


Purgatory: Book Three in the Doctors Smith & Saxon series

by ss9



Series: Doctors Smith & Saxon [3]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst heavy, F/M, Human AU, Modern AU, One sided Master/Missy or is it?, References to historic attempted rape, References to historic drug use, References to past Doctor/Clara and other Doctor/companion pairings, Third book in series, Twissy au, best enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-01 09:01:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11483055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ss9/pseuds/ss9
Summary: Book Three: Separated by the chilling truth of Missy's past, can John ever come to terms with what he learnt; can he reconcile his love for Missy and the promptings of his conscience? Will his trip back to his roots uncover more than his own old ghosts, and what if those ghosts refuse to stay buried?





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

-/-

John had forgotten how cold it could get. In London spring was already underway but it seemed to still be a lifetime away this far up north. For many people revisiting the land of his birth would be a sort of homecoming, but for Dr John Smith it was more akin to surviving purgatory. Not that his protestant upbringing had him in believing in such a place, but if it did exist, John was certain, it was located somewhere around the Glasgow slums he had grown up in.

The last few weeks had seem him tread what was once familiar ground. Yet many of the squalid tenement blocks he had grown up around, had been torn down, and in their place equally squalid concrete tower blocks had sprung up. The roads, the people were alien to him now, and John couldn't count the number of times he had gotten turned around and lost. He was just lucky none of those little misadventures, had landed him in serious trouble. His good quality coat and shoes already marked him out as different.

Still John wasn't completely stupid; he was always safely back in his hotel before dusk. Back to his hotel room, alone, back to his redrafting and the bottle of whiskey that helped to warm his bed. He needed the alcohol, because every moment spent re-reading and editing his own text, was a reminder of the woman who had inspired this latest work. He missed his Marsaili. It was a physical ache, like he had ripped himself open, dragged out vital organs and left them behind. John wasn't sure he could continue to survive with his body in Glasgow and his heart in London; it was just too far, he was certain the connection would snap and he would be left bleeding inwardly.

Yet as much as his heart longed to return his head refused to capitulate. Every night John lay awake in his hotel bedroom, staring at the ceiling, turning the story Missy had told him over in his mind. She wasn't the woman John had thought her to be, and he wasn't sure he could accept the real her. Could he live with a woman prone to such violent outbursts? Could he love her and forgive her and trust her?

Trust…that was at the core of this. John knew he loved her, he probably could forgive her, but could he willingly trust his own life and those of his friends in Missy's hands?

There was now a division in his mind between the woman, Marsaili, he had believed her to be, and Missy, the real her. Warts and all, wasn't that true love, accepting someone for all their faults? God knows Missy had done that with him, and yet John was honest enough to admit, she was probably stronger than him in this regard. Hell she was stronger than him in all regards….well except in regards to regulating her temper.

Scrunching his eyes against the images that played before his eyes John tried to push them away. He could probably learn to accept and move past the drugs, the depression and desire to escape, John knew only too well. The depths someone could be driven to in seeking that escape…

Yes he could.

Walking around Glasgow's streets, John had seen his fair share of despair, of people trapped in a cycle with no hope, whose only release from this nightmare, that was their life, came in a pill or a pipe.

He could probably even come to accept the violence, with which Missy had defended herself, when that bastard dealer tried to rape her. In the wee hours of the night, John had to be honest with himself, if he walked in on someone trying to rape Marsaili; he doubted he would care whether he killed them either. At least at the time, later he might regret it. but at the time he probably would done something very similar.

So if John could understand the why, could accept the consequences, why couldn't he get past this and go home?

Clara….it was as simple and as complicated as his ex-girlfriend.

Missy had hurt her, had threatened her whilst she was laid up in the hospital and that was something John couldn't get past or accept. Clara was still very dear to him, and god knows he and Missy had already been the cause of enough heartbreak for her, yet John drew the line at actual physical harm.

Fear and jealousy; they had driven Missy to threaten Clara to stay away from him. The violence was not part of her past, it was part of what made Missy Missy and John wasn't sure he could ever learn to accept that. How could he live and love and trust her? Wouldn't he always be worried that something, or someone, would trigger that side of his beloved?

So he had run away.

Dr John Smith was good at running away.

And yet this time…this time…

Sitting up in his bed, his shoulders shaking with the force of keeping himself together, John switched on the bedside light, his gaze drifting to half-finished letter sitting their taunting him. He had promised Missy he would write, for a writer that should have come easily to him, and yet John struggled. There was so much he wanted, needed to say to her, but his words muddled and taunted him.

Perhaps he was over thinking this? John's words didn't need to be perfect, not for her. It wasn't like he was writing for his editor, his was writing to his lover…the woman he had left behind…the woman who was probably convinced that despite his promises, John had already decided to abandon her.

Grabbing the pad, John's hand shook slightly as he gripped his pen. His beloved typewriter wouldn't do, not for this letter. Then not allowing his doubts to hold him back John put pen to paper…and somehow this time the words came.

-/-

Dr Missy Saxon was the picture of professional poise. Her hair, make up and outfit was immaculate. She turned up early every morning, greeted her secretary politely, deferring any personal questions, ran her sessions to time, made detailed notes and managed to convince her patients she was invested in their progress. Yet inside she was screaming.

It had almost been two weeks and she hadn't heard from him. No calls and none of the letters John had promised her he would write.

So whilst at work Missy was able to present a veil of control, at home, her flat reflected her internal conflict. She hadn't changed her sheets since John had left, and part of Missy quailed at the thought of all the dried sweat and dead skin and bed bugs, yet she couldn't bring herself to change them. Her guest pillow probably smelt more of her than John, but Missy still clung to it, the material soaked through night after night with her tears.

Takeout boxes were stacked precariously on top of the bin. Missy couldn't be bothered to empty it, who cared if it started to smell, who cared if she left half empty glasses on every surface, so what if she had been reduced to drinking her whiskey out of a tea cup?

Every morning was the same; Missy dragged herself out of bed, head pounding, stomach churning, showered and dressed according to rote. Then the woman that stepped out of her flat appeared like any other fortysomething professional. She grabbed a large coffee on the way to work, plenty of sugar substituting for the breakfast she couldn't stomach. She worked through her appointments, shutting down part of herself was a relief. She worked through lunch, her stomach still not settled, then when Mary threatened to kick her out of the office in the evening, a starving Missy would grab something to eat on the way home.

That was her life now, rinse and repeat.

Sitting at her desk, her notes for her first patient open in front of her; Missy barely looked up when Mary entered. She did force a smile when her secretary set down a full cup of coffee in front of her, yet Mary wasn't buying it, not if her barely concealed concerned expression was anything to go by.

"I've also got some post for you to look through." Mary added surprising Missy, as her secretary normally handled anything that wasn't client related, and that really was few and far between.

Swallowing nervously Mary set down a crisp white envelope, with only one word written on the front…Marsaili…

Leaning back in her desk chair, Missy could feel her breathing pick up. She knew that handwriting.

"How…"

"It was in another envelope addressed to the office, there was a note addressed to me from Dr Smith asking me to make sure you got that."

Nodding Missy could only stare at the letter, at her name written in John's hand. Hand trembling she ran her fingers over the word, feeling beneath her fingertips the imprint of his pen in the expensive paper.

"Thank you Mary." Missy added by rote, her politeness a barely disguised form of dismissal.

Yet either Mary didn't get the hint, or worse, her secretary was about to stick her oar in.

"I didn't know if I should give it to you now…or perhaps hold on to it until after your morning appointments?" Mary offered hesitantly. "I could hold it for you…"

"I am perfectly capable of making up my own mind Mary!" Missy snapped, and by her reaction practically confirming her secretary's caution. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't snap at you."

"I don't mean to interfere Missy, but you aren't yourself, and neither of us knows what's in that letter?….I just thought if it wasn't good news that you might want some privacy and you do have the afternoon free?"

Bless her; at least someone was looking out for her, even when Missy wasn't capable of looking out for herself. Part of her wanted nothing more than to rip the envelope open right now, appointments be damned, another part dreaded ever opening it. John could be ending things between them for good this time, after two weeks without a word Missy didn't expect it to a declaration of his undying love.

It couldn't hurt putting off hearing that for a few hours…to allow herself a few more hours of denial?

It was the sensible thing to do but when had Missy Saxon ever done the sensible thing?

Her fingers tore open the envelope; her haste sent a jagged tear through her own name, an ill portent indeed.

My Darling Marsaili,

The affectionate nature of the address had Missy releasing the breath; she didn't know she had been holding.

I hardly know what to write, in truth have started this less so many times and yet the words I set down seemed infantile and lacking the depth I have striven for. I had not realised so long had passed, and then I began to panic, in truth any words no matter how clumsy must he better than no news at all. I am sorry for the worry and heartache my sudden departure and ensuing silence have caused.

So far so good it seemed and Missy managed to drag her gaze away from the page, long enough to smile and nod at Mary, her secretary seemed almost as relieved as Missy was that it wasn't bad news. She would leave her alone now.

I have been travelling the road of my youth, and I confess it has been a harder journey than I had anticipated. I don't know what I expected to find here, there are no answers in the streets I grew up in. I am no happier here than I would be back home. I miss you.

I imagine you there glaring at the page, reminding me that if I miss you so much that the remedy is in my own hands. In truth love I am stuck, I am trapped between what my heart wants so desperately, and what my conscience can live with. I do love you my darling, never ever doubt that. You are the only thing that brings true joy to my life. The world is grey and dull without you, and no, that is not just Scotland.

Snorting at John's attempt at humour, Missy swallowed down the tears that had sprung up at his declaration of love. She had begun to doubt it. If he truly loved her like he said he did, then how could he leave her? Still to go to Scotland, and at least a temporary stop in Glasgow, it was so far and yet Missy took some semblance of comfort, that at least if he was far from her, he was also far from Clara Oswald.

I will write to you soon, even if it is only a few words, I won't leave it so long again. Stay safe my darling, look after yourself in my absence. I will be very cross if I found out you have been neglecting your health because of me.

All my love

John.

-/-

John wasn't sure what mad sprite caused him to come here. This trip had been about clearing out his own old ghosts, giving himself breathing space, to decide where his life was headed, and who with. Perhaps it was just that he was tired of Glasgow, that there were fewer answers there than anticipated. He had planned to head over to his old university haunts, yet instead his feet had taken him to the train station, where the announcement of the local service to Ayr had tempted him too much to resist.

It was prettier than John expected, far different than the slums he had grown up in, although he was sure it had its run down areas as well. Some money had been spent on the promenade at least and John had savoured the strong sea breeze. It had blown away any cobwebs, even if it had made his already wild hairstyle look like a birds nest.

There were no answers here either it seemed. Being in the town of Marsaili's birth had not brought her any closer to him. It had been foolish to think he would find anything of her here; it had been years since Missy had lived here.

Determined to head back to Glasgow and continue on with his journey John was so intent that it wasn't surprising when he got a little lost. The residential area he found himself in was decidedly lacking in any shops or café's, in which to ask directions, and John was just considering trying to retrace his steps back to the sea front, when it began to rain. And not the light drizzle that he normally had to put up with in London, but a heavy deluge that quickly threatened to soak through his gabardine overcoat.

Swearing under his breath John jogged through the rain, glancing about for any sort of shelter…There that was open.

The church door was open and John happily stepped out of the rain and into the vestibule. Shaking off the water that had gathered in his curls, John glanced up at the darkened sky.

"Damn."

"You know laddie most people might shy away from blaspheming in the house of God."

Startled John all but jumped out of his skin. He had assumed himself alone, yet just inside the inner church doors was a vacuum wielding lady, of undetermined years, yet she was definitely 60ish.

"Sorry…I didn't realise…"

"Anyone was listening aye, well in the house of God someone is always listening." She chuckled, blue eyes glinting with mirth as John squirmed a little. "Don't worry sonny I'm just joshing with ya. Now come on inside, you'll catch ya death if you go back out in that, I'll even put on the kettle."

"Really I am f…" John tried to insist, yet she had already turned and vanished back into the church, and an ungrateful John felt himself compelled by politeness to follow.

It was a little warmer inside the great cavernous structure, yet it wasn't the cool air that made John shiver. He had never felt particularly comfortable in any church, his grandmother was a dedicated Protestant, John had never held any real religious views of his own; even so it still felt alien to step into the very Catholic Church.

Following the lead from the vacuum John walked along the aisle before ducking down and through into a little side room. It held a table and a few fold up chairs, a single sink set against the back wall and the same smiling pensioner.

"Ah now take a seat, it won't take a minute for the water to boil."

Smiling politely John took a seat, watching absently as his companion fussed with the tea things over the sink before turning back to him.

"Sugar?"

"Ah yes please…three."

"Sweet tooth." She added with a smile that seemed almost wistful for a moment. "So many of you youngsters seem to have it plain these days." She babbled on. "One of my grandies won't even have milk!" She added as though the idea of tea without milk was clearly ludicrous.

"Yes well." John supplied, more by rote, it wasn't like he really needed to contribute to the conversation, she seemed quite happy to prattle on as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"I've got a bit of shortbread stashed away if you fancy a piece."

For a moment John opened his mouth to politely refuse, yet before he could, a large piece of the treat was being plated up and placed in front of him.

"A tall boy like you needs feeding up." She tutted whilst she finished the tea. "There now isn't this lovely."

Again it was more of a statement than a question and John managed to avoid answering by taking a large bite of the shortbread. It was buttery and crumbly perfection, and John did his best to stifle a moan of delight.

His pleasure must have shown on his face because his companion smiled broadly, taking her seat as she slid over his mug of tea. "It's my mother's recipe. I've been offered actual money for it but I won't ever let it go…" She paused, the same sad expression flitting over her face. "Somethings should stay in the family."

"Thank you." John replied not knowing what else he should or could say.

Pulling the tea close, it took a long sip from the hot liquid, feeling it warm him up from the inside.

"Much better?" His companion asked in her usual rhetorical manner before continuing. "My Mam always said there ain't much that can't be put right by a good cuppa."

"So…" She sat back in her chair, blue eyes twinkling mischievously as she stared at her captive audience over the wisps of steam from her hot tea. "You're not from round here are ya?"

"No. I just came down from Glasgow on the train today." John replied, a sense of dejavu washing over him for some reason, which was ridiculous, as he didn't make a habit of drinking tea with strange old women in churches, regardless of denomination.

"And you no a Catholic neither." She added the hint of a smug smile playing about her mouth, as John's eyebrows shot up. "Oh dunnie worry laddie God won't mind."

Swallowing down his mouthful of scolding tea John could resist asking. "How did you work that out?"

"Because ya didne cross yourself with the holy water when ya came in." She added tapping her head, "Observation will teach ya more about a person than what comes outta their mouth, ya ken?"

"Aye." John had to concede that much.

"So did ya find what ya were looking for?"

"What makes you think I was looking for anything?" John questioned, his eyebrow dropping into a deep V.

"Just tha look upon ya face, like ya lost a pound and found a penny."

It was blunt, and more than a little prying but John couldn't deny that she was right. "I'm starting to think what I am looking for, can't be found by just travelling somewhere." John answered softly.

"Aye often that's the truth, still if you want some help, Father Michael will be in to take confession after two."

"No…no thank you." John insisted politely but firmly. He knew she probably meant well, but he doubted talking about this to a man in a dress, through a wooden screen would help him. At least it wouldn't help him.

"It's bound to be about some girl." The old lady tittered knowingly, "I've seen that look before young un."

"You do realise you are probably only ten years older than me." John countered, this woman's unerring ability to read him was starting to make him nervous, as was her blue gaze, it pinned him to his seat.

"You're young compared to me because you're just starting on life's merry go wheel, I'm old because I've been around and thrown off more times than I can remember. It's picking yourself up and having another go that ages you."

"So is it better to sit out and stay young?" Malcolm retorted, not surprised when his companion looked like at him like he had said something particularly stupid.

"Laddie you'll still pop your clogs like the rest of us whether you play on the merry go round or no. Do you really wanna meet your maker not having lived your life first?" She added slyly, taking a sip of her tea.

"Aye life might knock the stuffing out of ya, but it's not worth giving up on til ya have ta. If you met my twin sister you'd be counting your blessings, she's got the cancer. Spent her life working her fingers to the bone to support her bairns cause that no good drunk she married cannie be bothered to get off his fat…well you get the picture." She added with a hint of devilry. "She lost two of her wee babies, one when he was a baby, just fell asleep in his crib and never woke up, then her poor girl…fell in with the wrong lot…she just vanished."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman." John remarked his throat suddenly dry, his brain was making connections and yet it couldn't be; this wasn't one of his novels.

"Aye and yet she still drags herself her for morning service every Sunday. She comes here and counts her blessings, thanks God for all the good things she did get, and doesn't moan about the bad."

"Your sister…" John began, unsure just how he could ask this without sounding mad, yet it niggled at him unwilling to let go until he knew. "Would she be interested in telling her story do you think? I'm a writer and I am always looking for interesting life stories."

Surprised by the sudden question his companion's eyes narrowed, and John felt scrutinised from head to toe. "Well I don't know she might."

"Do you think if I came back on Sunday I might be able to ask her?" John pressed on. "You could introduce me?"

"How can I do that since we haven't even been introduced?" His companion shot back smugly, standing up to wash up her now empty mug, chuckling along at her own joke and John couldn't help but laugh at her point.

"Dr John Smith." John offered along with his hand as he stood up.

"Oh a Doctor, well please to meet you Dr Smith, I am Mrs Clyde…Marsaili Clyde."

Swallowing down his heart which had practically jumped into his throat, John did his best to steady his hand when Mrs Clyde shook it. Following her back into the main body of the church, John stood around a little awkwardly as she began to gather together all the cleaning supplied that had been left out.

"Marsaili that's an unusual name."

"Aye I suppose it is nowadays, now it's all Jades and India's and the like, still it's a family name."

A scientist John could allow for the law of coincidence and yet something had brought him here today, had guided his footsteps to Ayr, and this church and this woman. It was enough to almost have him believing in a higher being, or fate, or some such nonsense.

"So can I come back on Sunday and meet her?"

Shaking her head in disbelief Mrs Clyde smiled. "Aye it's a free country, if I see you here I'll introduce ya, I cannie promise she'll want to talk to ya…I mean you're a stranger, but I suppose the Lord works in mysterious ways and perhaps he has brought you here to do some good?"

-/-

John was nervous, and when he was nervous he either retreated into himself, a more recent practice, or he was overly gregarious. Yet neither of these approaches would help him today. His nervous energy and long frame meant it was difficult for John to sit still on the hard wooden pews. Even harder was it to feign interest in the service, there was something unsettling for him a non-believer to be surrounded by those who had faith, he felt like an interloper, setting foot on ground that was forbidden.

Yet what yet him from awkwardly shuffling past people to make a quick dash for the exit, were the two ladies sitting across the aisle and several pews further forward. John had arrived early for the service, so he had seen Mrs Clyde and her sister arrive. Marsaili Clyde had noted his present, an amused expression playing about her face, yet she only acknowledged him with the barest of nods before assisting her sister to her seat.

It was deliberate John was sure, making him wait through the whole service, perhaps it was a test. Whatever the reason John did feel like a child waiting to hear if he had passed on failed.

Finally the service was over, and the parishioners began to drift around, some greeting old friends, some approaching the front of the church and lighting candles and saying private prayers. Mrs Clyde and her sister were part of the later group and John waiting impatiently for their private devotions to be concluded.

Was she lighting a candle for her daughter?

John's heart clenched at the thought. If this was Missy's family then they honestly thought she was dead, and he hadn't yet decided what he was going to do or say about that. Should he say anything? Surely it was Missy's choice; she had chosen to leave her family behind and in the dark about her new life. What right did he have to swoop in here, turn all their lives upside down, expose Missy to who knows what ghosts she was probably ill prepared to deal with, especially as he hadn't even decided yet whether he could stay in her life.

Not to mention all of this worrying could be for nothing, it could just be a coincidence….

Yeah one extremely unlikely coincidence…

"Well young man my sister tells me you want to talk to me."

It was a statement and not a question and John's eyes whipped up. Catching her gaze John's breath caught in his throat. Right no coincidence. It was Missy, well an older version, short dark hair heavily streaked with grey, cheek bones you could open bottles with and those eyes.

"I thought you said he wasn't an idiot?"

"Sorry…" John cleared his throat. "I was just surprised."

"Well you're not mute but I will reserve judgement about whether you are an idiot."

"Aye Mary give the lad a chance." Mrs Clyde tried her best to sooth ruffled feathers. Clearly John had a tentative ally there but it was one best to hold in reserve and instead do his best to work on her sister.

Looking John up and down, Mary's raised eyebrow said more about what she really thought, yet her sharp tongue remained bridled. "So do you have a name?"

"Dr John Smith…Mrs…"

"McDonald…Mary McDonald."

"A pleasure." John added and he did his best to mean it.

"So why on earth would you want to talk to me Dr Smith?"

"I'm a writer." John replied, girding his loins as best he could in the face of such familiar icy reserve. "I am up here finishing off my next book and your sister mentioned you had an interesting life story…"

"If you're just interesting in peddling some gossip piece…" Mrs McDonald broke off. "I've had quite enough of that from these old biddies." She added, glancing around at the clearly eavesdropping ladies, who had found excuses to hover close by, who now scattered like a flock of birds.

"Well perhaps you can judge that for yourself." John replied, retrieving the bag he had brought with him, and fishing out a newly purchased version of one of his best known and most acclaimed novels.

Opening the cover to where his picture was emblazoned, it was a few years old now but it was still clearly him. Then he handed over the book to a surprised Mary McDonald.

"I have written my mobile number in the back. I am really interested in talking to you Mrs McDonald, perhaps when you have read through what I can do, you might be interested in giving me a call?"

Accepting the book Mary looked at him with something approaching appraising respect. He had surprised her; clearly Mary McDonald was used to people being a disappointment. It was a sad thing to realise, yet for all their physical similarities, this was the one thing that brought home that this was Missy's mother.

"You are a conundrum Dr Smith." Mary McDonald insisted, yet she did slip the book he had given into her bag. "But I suppose there is no real harm in you."

It was damning praise but right now John would take any progress, now if he could only sort out his own head this trip might actually have turned out to have been a good idea after all.

-/-


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

\---/---

I miss you…

It was embarrassing for a writer; surely he should be able to come up with something better. Yet it seemed although Dr John Smith had gotten over his writers block with his novel writing, when it came to putting his own thoughts and feelings down on paper he still struggled. Still any words were better than none, even the rather pathetic effort he had so far.

John had promised Missy he would write soon….soon was such an unspecific term, but it did imply imminently rather than eventually, days rather than weeks.

He had managed to keep up with his revisions for the book at least, so Douglas wasn’t hounding him. That left John free to pursue his other project.

Perhaps it was this project that was stilting the words in his pen. In truth there was plenty John could be writing to Missy about. He had met her aunt and her mother, albeit briefly. They were alive if not entirely well and John’s stomach churned a combination of indecision and indigestion. John glared at the half finished breakfast before him, perhaps he shouldn’t have asked for an extra helping of black pudding after all?

Reaching into his pocket John pulled out a ten pound note, catching the attention of the waitress, John waved the note in the air before placing it under the sugar pot. Then tucking the half-finished letter to Missy back into his note book, which he slipped into the deep pocket of his overcoat, John left the quaint little café and stepped out into the early spring drizzle.

Refreshing, if not a little depressing.

The sky was a dull monotonous grey colour, clouds crowded down on horizon and the sea reflected the same dark dullness back. Only the little crests of the white waves broke the monotony, that and the squawk of the seagulls, as they bickered and fought over last nights spilled chips. John imagined that in the sunlight it might look quite pretty. It was unfortunate for him that he was here now instead, as he doubted he would ever be able to change the image that had become fixed in his head.

Still it fit his mood and John wasn’t sure how he would have coped if the promenade had been full of holidaying happy families. As it was he had the place pretty much to himself as he walked along the sea front. He still had half an hour to kill before he was due to meet Mary and John had to try and work out just what he was going to say to her.

He had been surprised when she had called the day before and agreed to meet him. Part of him had hoped she would never actually call. Then he would have an excuse never to have to make this decision, it would have been taken out of his hands. He wouldn’t have to decide whether to tell Mary that her daughter was alive and…relatively well. He wouldn’t have decide whether to tell Missy that her mother had been sick, and that he had been surreptitiously meeting with her under the guise of collecting stories.

Still John knew that even if he didn’t know what he was going to say he had better turn up on time. If Mary was anything like her daughter she would give him hell if he was late.

Pulling out his phone John double checked the map to make sure he was going in the right direction. Mary had requested to meet him in the main library. It was across town and John had a worrying propensity to get himself lost, so it was justified paranoia that drove him as he kept double checking his position. In fact John was so engrossed in ensuring he was on the right track; he almost didn’t see the large black car until it was too late.

Jumping back onto the pavement, John’s heart pounded in his chest, even as the car swerved to avoid him. Yet it seems his luck wasn’t all good as the screeching tyres, skidded through a pothole, spraying up the dirty rainwater that had gathered there. Flinching as the wet spray splattered over his coat and trousers, John could only stare down in disgust. This was not the impression he wanted to leave with Mary, and John glared at the expensive Mercedes as it continued on down the street, its personalised number plate and high wax finish told John everything he needed to know about its owner.

Shaking his legs to try and kick off the worst of the water before it could seep into his clothes John picked up the pace. Being dirty was bad enough, dirty and late even he wouldn’t forgive.

\---/---

Her stomach heaved for the second time and Dr Missy Saxon did her best to keep the noise down. She had felt like death warmed up all morning, and her stomach was just refusing to settle down. She must have caught something. All this nights struggling to sleep and eating poorly had clearly impacted on her immune system, for once she couldn’t even blame it on the whiskey, as after John letter Missy had made a conscious choice not to drink.

If he came back…no when he came back Missy couldn’t look like that out of control addict she had told him about. He had to believe her, that she had her past drug addiction under control, and that her violent impulses were controllable, and none of this would be possible if she had developed a problem with alcohol instead.

Her father had been an alcoholic, a high functioning one, but still an alcoholic and Missy knew all too well that a predisposition to addiction was genetic. Well she had beaten the odds once before and there was no way she was going back into that personal hell again…besides right now the thought of drinking anything only turned her stomach.

The soft knocking on the door her personal bathroom had Missy groaning into the porcelain bowl. She couldn’t face her next client.

“Dr Saxon…Missy…” Mary’s gentle voice called through the door. “I’ve brought you some water.”

“Thank you.” Missy somehow managed to croak out. “Just leave it on the desk.”

“I’ve also rearranged the rest of your morning appointments, told them you were sick.” Mary added nervously.

She had a right to be, Missy hadn’t asked her to make those sorts of changes, it wasn’t that her business was in trouble but clients tended to get a little touchy when their appointments were cancelled at the last minute. Missy was just about to scold Mary for her presumption when another wave of sickness had her praying to the porcelain god.

Dear god what had she eaten?

No it couldn’t be food poisoning; there were other symptoms for that, which Missy thankfully wasn’t suffering with and she had been feeling nauseous on and off for weeks. She had already discounted that she could be…

God Missy never wanted to remember that evening if she could help it, throwing the negative pregnancy test literally back in John’s face. So that only left something else, something potentially worse than finding out she was pregnant.

“I also booked you an appointment with your GP, it’s an evening surgery appointment, I couldn’t get you in any sooner.”

Right now that really was crossing the line; if Missy could have dragged herself off the floor she would have given Mary an earful. Honestly she was surprised they had even let her book an appointment, Missy hadn’t set foot inside that practice in the last what was it…five…no over six years.

“It’s at 5.30…you need to be there 10 minutes before though…”

“Yes thank you Mary!” Missy snapped her secretary was lucky she made such good coffee, as right now Missy was barely moments away from sacking her. She wasn’t a child that needed looking after, no matter what Mary thought about it. Perhaps it was something in the name…her mother had been just…

No…Missy pushed those thoughts away with a violet shove, she was not going to think about her mother just because she was feeling miserable. She had managed to avoid thinking about her for years, with every year apart it grew a little easier. No that wasn’t entirely true, the things that reminded her occurred less often, yet the memories still stung as deeply when they resurfaced.

Still she had made her choice such as it was. It was best for everyone that her family thought she was dead, including her, with every year that passed Missy felt a little safer. When she had first gotten to London, trying to go cold turkey from her drug addiction, and trying to rebuild her life from the ashes, Missy had been certain it was only a matter of time until he found her…unless she had really killed him?

In some ways it would have been easier if Missy knew for sure H…he was dead.

She felt no guilt in defending herself the way she had. He had brought it on himself…he had…she thought he was her friend, the only friend she had left, when everyone else had turned away from her. Missy hadn’t cared how he really made his money; she knew if Theo had found out before he died then he would have been devastated.

Yet her late husband would have been even more horrified at knowing what he tried to do to her…they had trusted him…Missy had depended on him, her good right arm. The three musketeers, or three trouble makers, as her mother had called them…her mother. Hell he had been best man at their wedding.

Missy had spent years not thinking about it, about them, about him, and yet now it seemed those memories exorcised for John, refused to be suppressed once more. Looking back Missy tried to think of any signs before her drug addiction and descent into hell, for any sign of cruelty or violence on his part. All she could remember was a boy, her friend, who had grown up beside her, who held her hair back when she had drunk so much she made herself sick, who helped her revise for her exams and teased her when he scored higher.

Where had it all gone wrong?

When had that sweet boy turned into that…that thing?

The sort of man who would try to rape his own brother’s wife?

\---/---

“So…” John forced a smile when Mary McDonald continued to scrutinise him over her glasses. “Where should we start?”

“You’re supposed to be the expert, why don’t you tell me?” Mary retorted and John had a sudden flash back to his one and only therapy session with her daughter.

“I…urgh….”

“We could start with the truth.” Mary interjected, too blue eyes narrowing, pinning John to his chair like he was a particularly interesting specimen she was about to dissect. “Why are you really in Ayr Dr Smith?”

“I told you and your sister I am finishing off my latest book.” John shot back, trying his best to meet her gaze and not act shifty, a fact made more difficult by the bead of sweat that was slowly making his way down the back of his neck.

“So why want to talk to me?”

“As I said before, your sister mentioned you had an interesting life story, and I am always interested in hearing people’s stories, they help to give me ideas for my next…”

“You’ve gone through an awful lot of trouble just to hear an old housewife’s life story Dr Smith.” Mrs McDonald replied her tone clipped as she pronounced his title. Her fingers tapping as she rapt her fingernail against the pristine cover of the book he had gifted her.

“I read your book, it was quite good, better than I was expecting. It was a mystery novel; you like solving puzzles don’t you Dr Smith?”

It was less of a question and more of a statement so John merely nodded in reply, still unsure where Mary was going in her hypothesis but growing more uncomfortable by the second. If she had gotten all that just by reading her book, John was terrified what she might deduce if he was actually able to speak more than four or five words together.

“I won’t give her to you.” Mary insisted suddenly, and as much as John tried to feign innocence that he didn’t know what Mary might be referring to, then both knew when he swallowed and couldn’t hold her gaze, just what…just who they were talking about.

“Not unless there is something in it for me, and don’t you dare misunderstand me, I’m not asking for money.” Mary added her voice breaking slightly. “I want justice.”

Unsure what he was getting himself into and yet unable to resist, John retrieved his notebook, opening it out and retrieving his fountain pen from his vest pocket.

“I think Mrs McDonald you had better start at the beginning.

\---/---

Mary had sent her home and Missy had gone grudgingly.

She really hadn’t been lying, after emptying her stomach of all its contents she really had started to feel better…well not as awful at any rate but she had promised Mary she would still attend her GP appointment.

Still there were worse things than having the rest of the day to herself. Missy had finally gotten around to throwing away the takeaway rubbish, washing up some of her glasses, and reluctantly changing the sheets. They no longer smelt of John anyway so there was no point in lying in filth.

Missy was trying and failing to watch an old movie, she had watched it so many times in the past that she barely needed to pay attention anymore. Instead she was re-reading the first and to date the only letter John had sent her. It was more than a little pathetic but reading and then rereading his declarations of love had helped settle her a little. 

She had deduced from a few throwaway lines that John was in Scotland, the postmark on the envelope…a Glasgow postmark, merely confirmed her suspicions. He really was a clever bastard, going to the one place in the world that Missy wouldn’t follow. She missed him terribly and if things had been different Missy would have tracked him down already and made John forgive her.

But she wouldn’t dare follow him there. Even so many years later it would only take one person to recognise her from her past and her current life would unravel, Missy would have to face anger, and questions, and all the mess her sudden disappearance had caused. She knew it was selfish to want to keep her life, and yet surely it was a kindness too?

Her family must have found some kind of peace, it wouldn’t be fair to them to rake it all back up again, so John was safe in his little haven…well at least for now. Reckless had once been her middle name and Missy suspected there might well come a point when the pain of not seeing John outweighed the risk of being uncovered…but not yet.

Closing her eyes Missy was almost dozing when she heard the front door bell ring. Frowning she stared up at the ceiling, she really wasn’t in the mood for Jehovah Witnesses today. Still they usually went away if you ignored them long enough. Yet when the bell rang for the third time Missy had another thought, she had other persistent visitors in the past.

What if it wasn’t….what it if was John?

Missy’s feet hit the floor and she all but flew down the stairs, he heart beating suddenly in her chest as she reached the front door and opened it with a hopeful smile…a smile that quickly died when she caught sight of who was standing there.

Not John Smith…not even Jehovah Witnesses that she could tell to fuck off…two uniformed police officers stood at her door and Missy Saxon had no idea what the hell they were doing there.

“Can I help you officers?” Missy asked politely, her professional mask firmly in place.

“Dr Missy Saxon?”

“That’s correct.” Missy replied, adding nothing more or less.

“We’ve come to talk to you about a complaint that has been registered by a Miss Clara Oswald…Perhaps we had better discuss this indoors?”

\---/---

“I wish you would tell me where we are going?” It sounded more petulant than he intended but John hated being kept in the dark.

He was a man used to being in control and he hated being led around by the nose…well unless it was a certain razor cheek brunette doing the leading, and as strong as the resemblance was between mother and daughter John really didn’t feel that way about Mary McDonald.

“There is somebody I want you to meet…well meet is the wrong word, but you need to see him. That’s why I suggested meeting today; I knew he would be in town on one of his ‘charity’ visits.”

From the way Mary spat the word charity John doubted the person she was talking about really a philanthropist. Yet John was intrigued, Mary had clearly put some thought into today and since they had barely started talking about Marsaili, he knew this little excursion had to be important.

The taxi they had been travelling in pulled up outside the general hospital and John couldn’t help but feel even more confused. Yet he paid the driver, ignoring Mary’s protest and offered her a hand to get out the car, which she also grudgingly accepted.

“Well at least you were raised a gentleman.” Mary muttered under her breath, it was the closest to a compliment John was ever going to get and he couldn’t help but grin to himself.

“My grandmother wouldn’t have settled for anything less.” John replied, more to himself, but it earned him a raised eyebrow, as Mary’s gaze settled on him assessing.

“Well she had her work cut out for her I’m sure.”

Give a compliment then take it away. John shouldn’t have been surprised, and he wasn’t particularly bitter about it either. It wasn’t like he needed to gain Mary’s good opinion, she wasn’t going to be his mother-in-law, well not unless he confessed Missy was alive, and even then it was only if they got back together?

Still if they weren’t getting back together why was John allowing himself to be dragged around the town by Missy’s mother?

Not sure where they were going John stayed half a step behind Mary as she made her way inside the hospital, she clearly knew her way around, although John imagined that she had probably spent a fair amount of time here whilst she was getting her cancer treatment. Still he was a little surprised when Mary turned off of the main corridors and entered what looked like a large administration block.

Any minute now John expected someone to come across them and ask them to leave, so he was quite surprised when they seemed to suddenly come across a large group of people milling about. Mary easily joined the back of the crowd, her diminutive stature meant she easily blended in, John’s height meant he stuck out a little, yet it seemed no one was paying attention to him.

There was a podium set up near the far wall, some balloons and was that a ribbon over a door. There were even a few photographers milling about, which relaxed John a little, still he had no idea why Mary had dragged him to what looked like a unveiling ceremony?

Suddenly another set of doors opened and the rest of the gathered crowd began to applaud, John started out of politeness but when Mary glared at him, he stopped suddenly…no clapping…got it…

There was the typical executive in front, badly fitting suit, bought off the rack. Then a pretty blonde followed her style conservative and rather twee, something John expected to see stepping out of the pages of Horse and Hound and following her…

A tailored suit. John could always tell. Black, simple lines, a matching shirt and tie. It was stark and eye catching, and the man wearing it wasn’t what he would call handsome but he was average looking, a slightly round face, greying hair and the temples and neatly cropped goatee. It wasn’t anything John wasn’t used to seeing in London and if it wasn’t for Mary’s hiss John might not have given him a second glance.

The badly suited executive stood up to give a speech but John tuned it out. He kept his eyes locked on Mr Tailored. He looked completely at ease in the spotlight, shooting a few people in the crowd a smile, before feigning interest in the speech that was probably all about him. Still when it was clearly time for him to step up to speak he feigned reluctance before stepping up to the podium, the pretty blonde dutifully staring up adoringly, yet other than the required kiss on the cheek Mr Tailored ignored her.

“Thank you my friends. Well it has been a long time coming, but the wait has been worth it. I know that my dear brother would have been so proud if he could be here today. Instead today we open this building in his honour. May I please have a round of applause, for Dr Theodore Saxon, without whom we would not be here, and in whose memory I now declare this, The Saxon Clinical Reference Library…Open.”

Then with a dramatic flourish the ribbon was cut and the doors to the Saxon Reference Library were thrown open.

\---/---

“I don’t understand.” Missy took her seat on the single arm chair as she offered the two officers a space on her couch. “A complaint against me?”

The two officers shared a look before one pulled out his notepad. “Earlier today a Miss Clara Oswald made a formal complaint that on the 17th March you assaulted her whilst she was admitted to Imperial College Hospital.”

“Me assaulted her?” Missy forced a smile. “But that’s ridiculous.”

“She has claimed you approached her while she was alone, threatened her and caused injuries to her hand that later needed medical attention…We also have a witness statement from one Daniel Pink that you were indeed at the hospital in question on that date.”

“Well yes I was.” Missy admitted innocently, returning the Officers piercing stare with one of her own. “I received a call from my boyfriend that said he was in the hospital, the phone cut off before I could determine if he was hurt or someone he knew. My secretary Mary was there when I got the call and can corroborate that. Naturally I went along to try and find out what had gone wrong. That was when I encountered this Mr Pink for the first time…he was having quite a vocal argument with John and I was an unfortunate witness.”

“Would this be a Dr John Smith?”

“Yes it would.” Missy answered.

“Ms Oswald used to date John before he left her for me. I’m afraid there was more than a little resentment on her part towards me.” Missy sighed, eyeing the two officers from below her lashes. “I suppose I should have realised it was too good to be true, that she had finally given up on trying to break us up.”

Shifting on the sofa, the two police officers shared a look before the one that had so far been silent turned to Missy.

“Could you elaborate on that Dr Saxon?”

“Well it’s not the first time our domestic arrangements have spilled over into wasting police time I’m afraid. Check your own records Dr John Smith was arrested back in December, he had broken into my offices thinking I was there, because someone had convinced him I was dumping him. Now I can’t prove it was Clara, but considering she was waiting for me when I turned up at the police station to get John released. Shouted all sorts of crazy rubbish at me, I just ignored it and came in to make my statement, but it was clear she was stalking me to some degree. Then this mess with the hospital, I mean a why did she wait until she bumped into John again before she fainted and had to be rushed to hospital, if she was really that sick why didn’t she go see a Doctor?”

“We have the confirmation of Ms Oswald’s stay in the hospital.”

“Oh I don’t doubt she was sick, she had made herself sick as I understand it, not eating as some sort of cry for help…or attention…John’s attention. And then whilst we were both there she sent that Mr Pink out to tell John they were running a pregnancy test. Well as you can imagine Officers I wasn’t exactly happy…”

“Angry enough to confront Ms Oswald?”

“I was too upset to confront anyone…I can’t have children, I had an accident years ago and well….” Missy trailed off, no longer needing to feign feelings of upset. “I stayed with John until Mr Pink came back and told us the results of the tests, and then we left.”

“And Dr Smith can corroborate this story?”

“Yes but I imagine that Mr Pink statement does as well!” Missy replied someone testily. “Look I don’t mean to be cruel but Ms Oswald is not of sound mind right now, she cannot accept that her relationship with my boyfriend is over, either that or she is seeking to punish me for stealing him from her…It sounds to me like either the doctors at the hospital gave her some pretty strong drugs and her brain played tricks on her….or….well I prefer not to think of the alternative that John has a dangerous jilted girlfriend out to use the law to get own pound of flesh.”

Again the two officers shared a resigned look; they finished taking notes in their little pad.

“Well thank you for your time Dr Saxon. We are keen to get Dr Smiths testimony just to tidy up all the loose ends yet when we called at his house there was no answer…”

“Well of course there wasn’t John’s not in London at the moment; he’s up in Scotland visiting family and finishing off the latest draft of his new book.”

“Do you have any idea when he will be back?”

Rolling her eyes Missy shrugged. “As long as it takes, a few more weeks at least I think. It’s a creative process.”

“Well when you speak to him…”

“I will mention that you wish to talk to him.” Missy added getting to her feet as a sign that for her this interview was at an end.

Taking the hint the two Officers stood up and followed Missy towards the stairs. She maintained her air of polite annoyance until she closed the door behind them. Then she sank to the floor, her hands trembling and the sick feeling from the earlier that morning returning in triplicate.

Little Clara Oswald had gone to the police…It had been weeks since Missy’s little outburst at the hospital and nothing, other than stupid need to confess all to John, Missy had been certain she had gotten away with it. Well she had for the time being, Missy was certain she managed to instil enough doubt into the minds of the police officers that it had bought her some time.

On the surface Clara had every reason to want to get revenge on Missy, and Missy after the negative pregnancy test, surely had no reason to fear her young rival?

Yet that story only held weight as long as there was no CCTV of her entering the ward and two that John backed her up. Yet would he? After everything that had happened would John Smith lie for her?

Well there was only one way to find out and that involved Missy getting to John before the police could.

\---/---

It was like any other library and John pretended to have an interest in the neatly stacked shelves, yet it was Mary McDonald he was really interested in watching. If glares could burn a hole in a man’s skull then this Mr Saxon, the coincidence wasn’t something John could ignore, well he would have been a human torch by now.

Clearly the man in question must have felt the weight of her gaze as in the middle of talking to some enthusiastic local reporter he turned, his eyes making their way over the crowd of people, passing over John before landing on Mary. For a moment that self-assured expression slipped but then what replaced it was chased away by a broad smile.

Picking up a spare glass of champagne he excused himself from the reporter and made his way over, having to stop a few times to accept thanks and congratulations from other people, but finally he made it over to Mary McDonald, who seemed less than pleased to see him.

“Well well well Aunt Mary, such a pleasure….Champagne?” He offered her the glass, pouting and feigned an expression of hurt when she crossed her arms.

“I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to show your face back here Harry Saxon.” Mary’s voice trembled from the control it took to keep it under control. “Even you don’t have enough money to buy back your past.”

“Oh but Aunt M I really do…I have oodles these days…I mean I paid for all this, isn’t it spiffing!” Harry taunted her, taking a sip of champagne. “A tribute to my dear brother…”

“Money can’t cleanse your soul boy.”

“Oh dear is this more church garbage? I would have thought you would have learnt your lesson with all that when you drove your dear darling daughter away?”

“Don’t you speak her name, don’t you even think about her…you…you…” Mary couldn’t find the words.

“Who Marsaili, my dear sweet dead sister-in-law?” Harry’s words were designed to hurt, yet there was no hiding the twitch as he uttered her name…the name that was never spoken.

“You promised to look after her. You swore to me Harry Saxon, on your brother’s grave.”

“Yes well some people just couldn’t be helped could they!” Harry hissed, for a moment his cool slipped, his voice rose drawing unwanted attention.

Taking another sip of champagne Harry composed himself, forcing back that earlier expression of complete control and calling up an frown that almost made him look sincere.

“Look Aunt M. I’m sorry but you have got to let it go…go pray or something. I am sorry I managed to find and build a life for myself after all the shit that happened to Theo and Marsaili, he was my brother and she was my best friend. I loved them too but they’re both gone. I paid for my sins Aunt M, I got clean, I built a life and I am not going to apologise for that. Now it has been lovely to catch up. Give the family my best.”

And with that Harry Saxon, handed off his champagne glass to a passing waitress and returned to his adoring hordes, wrapping his arm around the pristine blonde and not shooting Mary McDonald another look.

“Are you alright?” John asked quietly, he could see Mary’s hands shaking as she clenched them into fists.

“No…No I don’t think I’ll ever be alright Dr Smith. Not until I get justice for my daughter.” Mary stopped glaring at Harry Saxon, lifting those familiar too blue eyes to John, those eyes that swam with tears she was too stubborn to cry.

“Harry Saxon killed my daughter and you are going to help me prove it!”

\---/---


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:  
\---/---

Dr Missy Saxon was nervous. It was an alien feeling, her stomach churned in a constant roll, like she was standing on the top deck of a ship during a storm. When she had turned up at the offices of Adams & Marbrant publishing without an appointment, Missy had expected to meet some resistance.

The receptionist had been most reluctant to even let her remain in reception, when she realised Missy really had just turned up, and expected to be able to see Douglas. Her pretty face curled up in a scowl, as Missy insisted on waiting whilst she phoned through to Douglas’s secretary, to see if he had a moment to speak to her. Missy knew when someone was just going through the motions, the young lady clearly expected to be asked to politely turn her away, and suggest that next time she should call ahead.

So it was with a measure of satisfaction, that Missy took no effort to hide, when she was instead instructed to wait here, as someone would come down to collect her. Yet satisfaction only lasted momentarily, and the sickness quickly returned, as Missy watched the door.

“Dr Saxon?” A middle aged woman, with throwback eighties hair questioned, as she stepped into reception.

Plastering a practiced smile to her face, Missy wasn’t surprised when the secretaries answering smile, was a little less beaming, and a little more forced. Poor woman was probably cursing her, much the way Mary did, when Missy suddenly upended her secretary’s carefully organised diary.

“I’m afraid I’ve only been able to squeeze you in for 5 minutes, if you need longer I can make you an appointment…”

“Thank you.” Missy cut in before the other woman could either complain, or indulge her curiosity. “5 minutes should be sufficient.”

Following her through into a large glass fronted office; Missy took a seat in front of the desk, not insulted when the frizzy haired secretary didn’t offer to make her a tea or a coffee. It was clean lined and rather impersonal, framed prints of book cover art on the wall, and only a few family pictures on the desk distinguished this was Douglas’s office. Missy would recognise silicon Vicky’s pained expression staring out at her from twenty paces…but children, well that was a surprise, Missy had assumed Vicky was part of the too posh to push brigade.

“Marsaili?” Douglas’s question hung in the air, as he stepped back into his office, “Or should it be Missy?” He asked, catching sight of Missy’s startled expression, at hearing her birth name spoken by anyone other than John.

“Either is fine. Thank you for agreeing to see me Douglas I do appreciate it.” Missy replied politely.

She had only met John’s publisher twice before, and only one of those as John’s girlfriend, so she could only imagine what he might be thinking of her turning up like this.

“I won’t beat about the bush, I need to go and see John, and you are the only one I can think of who might know where in Scotland he is right now.”

“Ah.” Douglas hesitated, setting down the folders he was carrying on his desk, fiddling with them as he avoided Missy’s gaze. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Missy questioned, to anyone else the split hair would mean little, but Douglas was a publisher and he knew the difference.

“John asked me to his location a secret.”

So it was a ‘won’t’. Which to be honest was a relief, a ‘won’t’ could be worked on, whereas a ‘can’t’ would leave her halfway up shit creek without a paddle.

“I thought he might have.” Missy began, her fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of her skirt. “And I normally wouldn’t ask you to breach that trust but I’ll be honest this is too important to wait…”

“I could offer to pass on a message.” Douglas replied firmly. “But that is really the best I can offer. I really try not to get involved in any of my writers personal lives; John is a friend as well, and so well I’m sorry Missy but that is the best I can do.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing that can be passed on in a message Douglas. I need to see him in person.” Missy insisted, she could see Douglas wavering, he was clearly uncomfortable of the position John had placed him in. “I know that he would understand and forgive you once he knows why…”

“I’m sorry Missy but I cannot help you. I won’t risk my professional relationship with John over this. I am no go-between, if it is something that needs to be said in person, you had better wait until John wants to come back.”

“And that’s your last word on it?” Missy pressed, this time she didn’t need to fake the distress, her head was swimming as all the possible consequences overwhelmed her, she had to get to John first, she couldn’t wait for the police to use their initiative.

“It is and for what it might be worth I’m sorry…” Douglas began, his ruddy face creasing in something approaching concern, as he watched the normally perfectly composed woman in front of him falter, and he stood up from his desk, as he could see his secretary pointing at her watch from the other side of the glass wall.

Waving aside the platitude for what it was, Missy forced herself out of the chair, she had to get out of here…there was no point in staying and embarrassing herself further…only the room was tilting and suddenly putting one foot in front of the other…

Her knees suddenly couldn’t support her and Missy swayed, Douglas’s sudden grip on her arm, now the only thing keeping her from crashing down in a heap.

“Missy!” Douglas called her name, watching as her eyes seemed to roll back, her body becoming a dead weight that he had to quickly lower back down into her chair.

“Helen get her some water!” Douglas barked at the hovering secretary, who rushed off to do just that.

“Missy?” Douglas patted her cheeks lightly with his fingertips, beyond relieved when a moment later Missy seemed to stir, blue eyes blinking up at him dumbly for a moment, before focusing on his face in confusion.

“You fainted I think.” Douglas tried to explain, grateful when Helen suddenly reappeared with the requested water, and Douglas held it up for Missy to sip.

“God I’m sorry I didn’t…” Douglas bumbled on and Missy barely listened to the words he was saying, the room was still spinning a little, and it wasn’t helping settle her stomach any.

It helped if she focused on one point, and tried to ignore the way the rest of the room seemed to shift about…by coincidence her gaze fell on the pictures on the desk…the happy smiling faces, and the doting way Douglas smiled down at them…and suddenly an idea appeared, and Missy latched onto it…she was already fucked, what was one more lie in the grand scheme of things?

“Is there anything I can do, any one I can call?” Douglas prattled on. “Should we call a Doctor?”

“I’ve already seen a Doctor.” Missy answered, and it wasn’t a lie, she had attended the appointment Mary had made for her. Had suffered through the prodding and the nurse taking her blood for tests; god knows how long she would have to wait for the results though.

“So other than turning back time, I don’t think there is anything you can do about it.” Missy muttered, ignoring Douglas laugh at what wasn’t meant as a joke, before dropping the lie that was sure to break his resolve.

“That way you could stop John from getting me pregnant and then running off after a stupid fight before I could tell him.”

It worked; Douglas looked like Missy had just punched him in the stomach.

“My god…Missy I’m sorry I should have believed you when you said it was important…”

“Well I’ll admit you weren’t my first choice of people to tell.” Missy muttered, avoiding Douglas’s pity, it was hard enough to lie to the man’s face as it was.

“I just need to talk to John…I can’t let anyone else tell him. I know I was a bit of a terror recently, no wonder with all the hormones and everything, but that’s no reason to fuck off and leave me with this mess to deal with all my own.”

“No…no of course he needs to know.” Duncan echoed.

“It’s just that I need to make some decisions.” Missy left it deliberately vague; Douglas was an intelligent man she knew what conclusions he would draw. It was almost too easy manipulating people sometimes.

Lifting her gaze from the carpet Missy could see the moment Douglas gave in, and yet part of her couldn’t resist the urge to twist the knife a little more…just because she could. “I just thought John had a right to have a say about it, and I don’t have a lot of time…If I can’t see him soon…well I’ll just have to decide on my own and then I don’t know if he would ever forgive me.”

The Or You was left unsaid…After all Missy was a bitch, not a sociopath.

\---/---

What the fuck was he doing here?

Because he seemingly couldn’t refuse anyone with Marsaili’s eyes, even if it was her crazy harridan of a mother, and because he was curious; Dr John Smith had always joked that his curiosity was going to get him killed one day, he just hoped it wasn’t going to be today. Still he did know one thing that Mary McDonald didn’t. Harold Saxon hadn’t killed his sister-in-law, because she was alive and well and living as Missy Saxon in London.

He should have just told the poor woman the truth. It was bad enough before, when John merely thought the family believed Missy to be missing presumed dead, but now to know they thought she had been murdered, and that he could relieve that terrible burden from a mother’s shoulders…

So why hadn’t he?

Why hadn’t he taken Mary out of the hospital and explained it to her, that Missy was alive and well, she just wanted to leave her past behind?

Because he was coward?

Possible…but if cowardice was all it was, why had John literally walked himself into the lion’s den?

Because he had to know. His Marsaili guarded her past, she kept it from him, her last confession had to be dragged from her and it wasn’t that John doubted her version, he just wasn’t an idiot and he just knew there was more to the story that Missy had told him. Harry Saxon had claimed to be her best friend and Mary hadn’t corrected him, if anyone could tell him more about those few months between Theodore’s death and Missy’s disappearing act then it would be Harold Saxon.

Harold’s pretty young secretary had left him to wait in the man’s own office. It was a mistake that a more experienced assistant wouldn’t make, but from the way she was dressed, John doubted Harry had hired her for her good sense and judgement. Still it gave John a moment to collect himself, well that and a moment to pry at what Harold Saxon chose to show the world.

Marsaili had taught him that. There was much you could learn about what a person considered important by what they displayed in their office.

The far wall had a floor to ceiling book case, yet it was decorated sparsely, a few books added for the design effect. Yet it was the pictures that drew John’s attention.

Harry in a running kit posing with his medal, and some familiar celebrity athletes, underneath the London marathon banner, whilst sponsoring some rehab centre; Harry dressed up in black tie, the pretty blonde arm candy wife on one arm, a famous actress on the other. There were numerous others, some with or without the goatee, always with someone important or showing Harry in a particularly good light. There was only one small black and white photograph, set in a simple silver square frame, positioned nearest to the large glass desk.

That one didn’t contain a celebrity, although John did think he knew the face of the other tall man in it, and for a moment John almost dismissed it, it was clearly a wedding photograph but the bride whose face was almost turned away from the camera wasn’t a blonde…she was a brunette…

Marsaili…it had to be, John would know those cheekbones anywhere, even from the merest glimpse of them.

It was a candid shot, three people arm in arm, sharing a joke. The taller man leaning back from the other two as he lifted his champagne glass, the bride in white leaning into the short man, her face turned up to his…as Harry Saxon stared down at her, a genuine smile stretching across his face. The taller man…Theodore Saxon, that was where John recognised the face from, the one from the photograph Missy had kept and hid away in a drawer.

The three looked close and so very happy. Yet this one photograph showed more than just three friends to the impartial observer, they showed a man in love, and that man wasn’t Theodore Saxon.

\---/---

Glasgow, John was in Glasgow.

It was a little too close for Missy’s preference; still at least it wasn’t Ayr. With any luck she could be in and out of the city in a day or so, and it had been so many years, with the help of large sunglasses and dull clothing Missy could avoid drawing attention to herself. Glasgow was different now, a thriving cosmopolitan city, plenty of tourists and commuters, she could lose herself in the crowd if needed.

She would have preferred to fly, the idea of being stuck on a train for hours filled her with dread still at least it was first class and she didn’t have to talk to anyone, and it would get her there today whereas the next flight with an available seat would have been tomorrow morning. Well unless she wanted to trek out to Stansted, an airport on the fucking Essex/Hertfordshire border was not bloody London, no matter how they tried to badge it as.

Right trolley bag, handbag, phone, sunglasses. The honk of the taxi from outside signalled it was time to get going.

The passport buried at the bottom of her bag was merely a precaution, as was the nicest pieces of her jewellery and cash she had withdrawn from her bank on the way back from Douglas’s office. Her past had taught her one thing, sometimes circumstances didn’t give you a chance to pack for the worst, so it was best to be prepared just in case.

\---/---

“So you must be Dr Smith?”

There was a significant tone of scepticism in Harold Saxon’s voice as he returned to his office.

He had paused outside the glass door and watched his “guest” for a few moments, before announcing his presence. Harry had created his “achievement” shelf for a purpose after all. It was meant to be intimidating to a certain type of person…the weak people…well it weeded them out, and made them nervous even before entering into any business deal.

There was a reason Harry insisted all new clients were first taken to his office, to stew a little before meeting him. Let them see the type of man he was, a man who achieved things, who other successful people wanted to be seen with. Harry had diversified enough over the years, sport, art, politics, there was something for everyone on that shelf. He could tell a lot about a client, by the photograph they gravitated to and commented on, and it was a pressure point Harry was only too happy to exploit later on.

The famous actress, either the man had a hankering for the glamour and notoriety that came with celebrity, or he had a hankering for beautiful women; either was a weakness Harry could take advantage of. The sporting victories, someone who felt the need to prove themselves, a competitive element; the need to win was a recklessness that also could be exacerbated to his advantage, get the greyhound focused on the hare and he would be blind to everything else going on around him.

Yet Dr Smith was staring at something else, something that made the short hairs on the back of Harry’s neck stand up. That photograph, the one that he should have thrown out years ago; had gone to do so half a hundred times and yet every time his fingers closed on the frame. The one Lucy refused to have in the house and Harry had grudgingly obliged, not because his wife had any say, but because he didn’t want to share her, in any way with his jealous wife…

And this Dr Smith was studying it.

For a moment Harry felt exposed and unsure, alien feelings for him, and he suppressed them with a savage ruthlessness. Forcing a polite yet guarded smile, Harry made a show of opening the door, a little disappointed when his guest didn’t jump at being interrupted snooping. They usually jumped.

“Mr Saxon.”

Dr Smith replied, his thick Scottish accent a surprise, the very same accent that Harry had spent years shedding. Yet it was perhaps a little paranoia but Harry couldn’t help but feel Dr Smith put unnecessary emphasis on the Mr, perhaps in an effort to belittle him and draw attention to his own superior title.

Well Harry had honouree PHD’s he could use to improve his own standing in that count, not that he had ever bothered, it was the connections from such honours that were important and not the dusty diplomas themselves. Besides if his hints paid off this year, it wouldn’t be long before Harry added some rather more prestigious letters to his name…Harry Saxon OBE…or perhaps even Sir Harold Saxon…hmm now that certainly had a ring to it.

“Please do take a seat; can my secretary get you a coffee?”

“No thank you.” Dr Smith replied politely, taking the seat in front of Harry’s large glass topped desk.

Dr Smith bent that tall well-tailored frame of his into one of the slightly shorter art deco inspired chairs, Harry was grateful for the additional height his own desk chair granted him. It was a silly niggle, so what if he was shorter and more slender…wiry…Harry could hear Mary McDonald’s mocking voice in his head for some reason. He had been something of a runt as a boy, always reliant on his taller brother for protection from the bullies, well until Harry had found other means to deal with them. After all even the terrier had sharp teeth, and Harry’s hours in the gym gave his frame a hidden power that would surprise most people.

“So…” Harry drummed his fingers on the arms rest of his chair, dark eyes narrowing on his silent guest who seemed content to sit there and force him to speak first. “What brings a bestselling author to my door?”

John shouldn’t have been surprised. Harry Saxon looked like a man who would do his homework, or at the very least pay someone else to do it for him. Plus it wouldn’t have been hard to google him, there were pictures of him on the sleeves of his books, and Douglas probably had a page about him on the Adams & Marbrant website.

“I was at the hospital, I heard your speech. You seemed like an interesting man and as an author I like meeting interesting people and hearing their stories.” John offered by way of explanation, knowing that it told Harry very little and yet the younger man preened a little at the acknowledgement.

“Ah yes.” Dr Smith’s face was familiar, more familiar than if he had simply seen the photographs off the internet and there was something here, something that struck him as too much of a coincidence. “Only I don’t recall being introduced….An unusual connection I would have thought.”

“Pardon?”

“A hospital in Ayreshire and then you turn up at my door.” Harry tilted his head, dark eyes narrowing on John’s face. Running the memories of that presentation in his mind, the normal mindless sycophants, and Mary MacDonald…of course no wonder he was staring at that photograph…

“Well I have to give her points for effort.” Harry drawled as he lent back in his chair. “The old bat really doesn’t give up.”

“Mr Saxon…” John began; uncomfortable at how quickly Harry Saxon had put the pieces together.

Waving aside whatever excuse Dr Smith was about to come up with, Harry smirked, he wasn’t even put out by it really. He had nothing to hide, well not really, not anymore. That was the wonderful thing about being the prodigal son, you could actually use your dark past, could capitalise off of it. Everyone loved a penitent sinner, the underdog made good; it gave hope to the hopeless or some such nonsense.

“So about Marsaili what do you want to know?” Harry offered, savouring the look of pure panic on Dr Smith’s face before the older man regained control of his expression, yet those eyes of his continued to burn and Harry felt a frisson of fear.

John wasn’t sure how to answer at first, but if Harry Saxon was going to be so blatant about it. “Mrs MacDonald is convinced you murdered her daughter.”

Blunt meet blunt, see your nine and raise you a Queen.

Eyebrows shot up to his unfortunate hairline, Harry Saxon was momentarily stumped. No one had ever had the balls to just come out and say it like that and certainly not to his face. Oh there had certainly been whispers, people said he had been the last person to see her alive and Harry suspected that was true…the little bitch had been all but living with him when she pulled her little stunt and up and vanished with his money.

There had been black looks at her memorial service, yet Harry had been too deep in his own grief to give a damn. Hate and love, they were flip sides of the same coin, and it was all too easy for him to flip between them when it came to Marsaili Saxon. Harry had sworn then never to give another living being that power over him, even his dear little Lucy was a carefully considered investment, yet one that save for financially Harry wouldn’t suffer if he had to liquidate.

“I didn’t murder Marsaili.” Harry replied, his voice soft as it stumbled a little over her name. “She was family…the only family I had left. She was my best friend. I don’t expect you to believe me Dr Smith…”

“I do actually.” The words were out of John’s mouth before he could stop them, and for the second time it seemed he had managed to stun Harry Saxon to silence.

Of all the things he had been expecting, for Dr Smith to just believe him, well that had been at the bottom of Harry’s list, and there was something about it that just niggled…that just didn’t sit right.

“So why are you here?”

That was a good question and one that John Smith wished he had a decent answer to. Why had he come here, he of all people knew that Harry Saxon hadn’t murdered Missy, there was nothing here for him to need vengeance for, and yet he still came.

“I like a mystery.” The answer sounded a little pathetic to his own ears and yet it was honest and John knew that Harry Saxon would hear that, the blasted man was as good at reading people as Missy was.

“And you said you were M…her best friend.” John stumbled over her name; he just couldn’t say it, not here, not to Harry Saxon. He could only hope that Harry hadn’t picked up on the evasion that up until now John wasn’t aware he was carrying out. “I just wanted to hear from you what happened.”

Snorting in amusement Harry tapped his chin with his steepled fingers, someone wanted to hear his side of the story, well it was original at least he could give Dr Smith that, Harry recalled the detective assigned to the case had been far more interested in trying to threaten a confession out of him. Yet when Harry wouldn’t oblige he tried to have him sent down for drug possession instead.

“As you said Dr Smith…I was her best friend, what makes you think I am just going to betray her secrets to some man I don’t know, someone who might use them and her memory to sell a few more books?”

“I am not here to profit from this…”

“Then why are you here Dr Smith?” Harry couldn’t stop the irritation from creeping into his tone nor his suspicion. “There are thousands of people who go missing every year, why this interest in a woman who disappeared over ten years ago?”

\---/---

She was tired and irritable and Missy Saxon had no compunction about taking that out the poor hotel receptionist. They had refused to give her the spare key to John’s room, saying Dr Smith had no added her as a second occupant and as such they would have to wait until he returned and instructed them. Still she did learn his room number from a surreptitious glance at the computer when the receptionist was distracted by the phone.

Booked into her own room, Missy savoured the cleansing heat of the shower, as she planned just what she was going to say to John when she saw him. He had asked her for space and her coming to Glasgow undermined that request. She had lied to Douglas in order to get his location. She was here to ask him to lie for her to the police, a lie that would require him to betray his ex.

So many lies yet Missy couldn’t bring herself to lie to John. It galled her to put herself at anyone’s mercy but that was what she needed to do, if she wanted to keep him. And she did want to keep him.

But what if it came down to a choice between lying to save her own skin with the police and losing John; or coming clean and keeping him but risking everything else, her freedom, her business?

Missy Saxon knew she loved John Smith, but did she love him to such an extent that she would put her entire world at risk for him? And if he let her, what did that say about how much he loved her? Why should she risk everything for a man, even John Smith, who was prepared to let her risk everything just so he wouldn’t have to compromise his integrity a little?

It was just a little fib…And if John wouldn’t lie to save her now, how could Missy ever trust that he would be there for her in the future?

\---/---

Harold Saxon was puzzled. It was a foreign feeling. Most people were easy to read but not this Dr John Smith. The good Doctors explanation for his interest in Marsaili had bugged him at the time, and now he sat ruminating in his den with a brandy in hand, Lucy exiled to the other side of the house, so he wouldn’t have to suffer her wittering. It bothered him more now.

“Fine you’re right I am writing a book, my main character is called Marsaili a coincidence I assure you, I was doing some research locally and I happened across a reference to this case and it just interested me. I met Mrs MacDonald and she filled in some of the story, and then curiosity just wouldn’t let me let it go until I knew more about it, that’s all…”

It tasted bitter on his tongue and Harry was certain the older man had been lying. But why? Why lie about this? It wasn’t like he was a detective out to solve a cold case, the man’s credentials had checked out; he really was who he said he was. Just a writer…

Harry pulled up his earlier google search of Dr John Smith, he must have missed something. There were numerous lines about his books, then some news articles dated over a year ago that had him linked as one of the hostages in a Somali pirate situation in which one America national had been shot and killed. The man had lived an interesting life it seemed, so why come here, why pick at this buried story?

Clicking on to the images, Harry scowled at the well-dressed man who had been caught in a few candid shots outside of publishing award ceremonies, even a few art gallery openings…each time with a pretty young thing on his arm. The man had taste in both his suits and his women, Harry could almost count himself impressed, especially that little brunette with the big eyes, very tasty.

This was pointless, he wasn’t going to get his answers here, and besides he had sent the man away with a flea in his ear, didn’t even bother to write down the name of the hotel Dr Smith was staying at. He wasn’t going to share her with anyone, especially some nosy writer out to capitalise from their past.

Harry was just about to close the screen down when something caught his eye…something made him look twice. It was a fat red faced man, his arm around a tall thin blonde that had too much surgery; they were leaning forward across a banquet table, nothing out of the ordinary there. There was another man’s profile in the corner of the shot, laid back, his arm slung over the seat of his dinner companion.

It must have been his imagination playing tricks on him. Still harry clicked on the thumbnail, expanding it out and reading the caption… Douglas A…..bla bla bla…Editor and publisher for celebrated author Dr John Smith and his wife Vicky enjoy a joke at the bla bla bla…

There in the very far corner of the shot, deeply in shadow was an outline and a set of cheekbones that had Harry gasping. No it couldn’t be…she was dead…Harry was certain of it and yet the coincidence caused his hands to shake as he reached for his mobile and speed dialled an acquaintance that had a very specific skill set.

“Ian…its Harry…yes I know what the time is and no I don’t fucking care you were just sitting down for dinner. I’ve got a job for you and I need you to start right away. I’ll pay you double, I need you to follow a Dr John Smith, I’ll email you a picture; he’s staying at the Carlton George…yes the one in Glasgow…I expect you to call in twice a day and pictures, everyone he meets, everywhere he goes you get it, got me?”

Ending the call Harry’s gaze was drawn back to the shadowy photograph, his palms were sticky and he rubbed them carelessly against his slacks before reaching up to trace the outline of her profile on the screen. It was a crazy thought, the rational part of his brain told him that Marsaili was dead, and yet it seemed his heart was determined not to listen.

\---/---


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:  
\---/---

Doctor John Smith knew he had fucked up.

It had been a mistake to go to Ayr. It had been even more of a mistake to allow his curiosity to draw him into meeting with Mary MacDonald. If he had just stayed away, if he had just let it go when his common sense warned him to then he wouldn’t have found himself meeting Harold Saxon.

It was like being trapped in a room with a snake, all practiced smiles and pretty glimmering scales, dark unblinking eyes that seemed to be able to see right through you, and the sure knowledge that this man’s bite was poisonous. John felt like clawing his own skin off just after being in the same room as him.

Yet what disturbed John the most were the ways in which Harry reminded him of Missy.

Like Missy he was magnetic, your eyes couldn’t help but watch him and he preened under the attention. Like Missy he could smell a lie coming before you even uttered it. Like Missy he set traps in his office to suss out his visitors. Like Missy Harry Saxon gave off the aura of an apex predator, of something extra barely contained by the human skin he was wearing. Like Missy he was used to being the smartest person in the room.

Yet unlike Missy, Harry Saxon seemed incapable of real feelings or empathy. He was ice whilst Missy was fire. Where John felt drawn to Missy he felt repulsed by Harry, and not simply because he was in love with her.

It had unsettled John to see Missy’s wedding photograph there in Saxon’s office. To have to confront the idea that the smiling man in the photograph had actually seemed human, that something had therefore happened to turn Harold Saxon into the cold blooded reptile that used his ability to read people solely for his own benefit. And John couldn’t shake the notion that it was Missy, or something to do with Missy that was at the bottom of it, and he had raked the whole thing back up again just because of his god damned need to follow a story.

It was a good job John was a writer and not a shrink himself, as the few hours had had tried to unpick Harold Saxon’s motivations had already given him a headache. He needed a hot shower, a good meal and then a long uninterrupted night’s sleep.

John was relieved to get back to the privacy of his hotel room, he felt safer having familiar walls around him. It was a childish fear, one that lingered at the back of his mind, and one that John couldn’t shake…it was like he could still feel those dark cold eyes on him, dissecting him, coldly weighing up whether he was to be prey or perhaps just something to toy with. No matter whether it was irrational or not it helped John make up his mind. He had spent too long hanging around with old ghosts. All John had gained from his investigations were more questions and none of the answers to his own dilemma.

It was time for a break…a break from his break…God perhaps he was cracking up again?

Douglas had originally offered him the use of his little country retreat and it was time John took him up on that offer. He would be able to concentrate on his book. Put some space between him and the mess his poking around in the past had stirred up. Tomorrow John could disappear and hopefully never cross paths with Harold Saxon ever again.

It was best for John and regardless of whether they remained a couple, it was best for Missy too. John didn’t want Harold Saxon anywhere near her, he didn’t need to know more about why she ran any longer, not when John felt the same urge after only half an hour in Saxon’s company.

\---/---

Missy Saxon was nervous. She ran her hands over the simple dark grey silk blouse and black pencil skirt combination. Her still damp hair was pulled back in a simple knot at the nape of her neck and Missy had barely reapplied any makeup, just enough to give her face a little colour, she was looking far too pale and drawn these past few weeks.

Her raised hand hesitated as she went to knock on the hotel room door; every possible reaction was running through her mind. Would John be pleased to see her, would this separation have increased his desire for her? Would he pull her inside and kiss her not caring that she was breaking the very promise she had made to give him space? Or would he be angry? Would Missy sudden appearance make things worse and not better?

All of these things were possible; in fact they were all probable knowing their turbulent relationship. Still Missy wasn’t going to find any answers hiding behind this door.

Knocking lightly Missy’s breath caught as she waited…and waited…her irritation growing when there was no sound of life from inside the room. It was after ten John should have been here…unless he was out, perhaps meeting up with friends…or perhaps another wo…

Refusing to even allow that thought to linger Missy knocked harder and louder, her own heart pounding hard in her chest.

\---/---

John didn’t hear the noise at first; his head held under the warm shower spray, eyes closed as he savoured the feeling. It was late; he was tired, breathing in through his nose he held the breath counting to ten before releasing it softly, hands reaching up to rake through his curls and work out some of the knots.

Switching off the water John leant against the wet tile that was when he heard the knocking. Cursing under his breath as the persistent knocking continued John considered ignoring it, someone must have got the wrong room…unless of course it was the hotel reception? Although why they didn’t just phone him?

Well it seemed whether he ignored it or not, his visitor wasn’t just going to go away.

Grumbling john grabbed the nearest towel; wrapping it around his waist and making sure it was secure, before grabbing another that he draped around his shoulders and used to attack his hair as he stepped back into his bedroom.

“I’m coming just hold your bloody horses!” John barked out, stepping up to the door his hand on the handle before the idea occurred to him that he might not want to talk to whoever was on the other side.

What if it was Saxon?

Had he told him where he was staying?

Fuck yes he had…it had seemed harmless at the time just a little small talk about possible follow up conversations. John hadn’t intended to stay more than tonight so what could be the harm. Yet what if Saxon had decided to continue their conversation after all?

Leaning down to press his eye against the spy hole John started back in surprise when he caught sight of who was really there. Of all the people…how could she have found him?

Could he see her? Was he ready to see her now, when John still didn’t have the answers he had left her to find.

John turned and caught his wild half naked appearance, the hair that was too long, the scruff that he hadn’t bothered to shave off…the tremble to his hands as they tried to smooth back his hair into some sort of order. His stomach churned, in a few seconds whatever composure he had found in the shower was shot and John almost found himself wishing it was Harold Saxon, at least he would know what to say to him.

“John I know you’re there…I can see the shadow under the door.” Missy’s voice echoed through the door. “I didn’t come here to fight. Please just let me in.”

Turning the handle he opened the door to Missy, not open wide, not welcoming her in, not yet…John felt off balanced as he fell into that icy blue gaze of hers , tightening his hands on his towel and the door handle just so he wouldn’t give into the automatic urge to reach out to her.

“What are you doing here Missy?”

It wasn’t the happy greeting that Missy had been hoping for and yet it wasn’t the worst scenario that had run through her head on her trip up here.

John was hiding, he was clutching the door like a lifeline, and Missy forced herself not to get distracted by his barely clad appearance…yet there was only so much of John’s bare wet chest she could ignore. Still tracing that damn water droplet with her tongue would probably be a step too far at this point.

“I came to see you, to talk. Can I come in?” Missy repeated, they couldn’t have the type of conversation Missy needed half in the corridor and she needed to get John away from the safety net of the door; once she was inside it would be far harder for him to shut her out, either emotionally or literally.

“I’m not dressed.” John retorted, even to his own ears it was a pathetic sounding protest.

Missy had seem him stake bollock naked on numerous occasions, a towel was hardly going to shock her yet perhaps it was the vulnerability of being so exposed whilst she was fully clothed…or perhaps it was this perverse craving he needed to squash, to feel her hands against his skin once more. To forget all those reasons that had caused John to force a separation and simply hold her in his arms…

“Then let me in and go get dressed…I can wait in the bathroom.” Missy suggested, despite her confident exterior she couldn’t hide the slight tremor in her voice at John’s continued rejection.

Although Missy might have prepared for the worst it still hurt, like a knife twisting in her stomach, when the man she loved looked at her with such suspicion and didn’t even seem remotely pleased to see her.

“I…” It was a reasonable suggestion and yet John couldn’t risk letting her inside his hotel room, all it would take was a stray touch to his chest, a kiss that he couldn’t pull away from and John knew talking would be the last thing they would do. And they did need to talk. Christ he had so much he had to explain and if Missy stormed away from him after he confessed just what he had been up to…well John could hardly follow her in a towel.

“Why don’t you go down to the bar, order us both a drink and I will join you in a few minutes.” John countered, trying not to react to the way Missy’s expression fell, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, hell he had left just so he could avoid doing that…or at least to avoid having to witness hurting them.

If he was truly being honest John knew that was closer to the truth, he had run because he didn’t know what do and he couldn’t bear having to watch Missy suffer whilst he kept her at arm’s length. He was a coward, and now he had to face up to it, and John was certain a stiff drink could only help matters. God knows he had some difficult things to talk about and he had no idea how Missy was going to react when he told her about meeting her mother and Harry, the safety net of other people might just save his neck.

“Ok…Just promise you won’t do a runner out of the back door.” Missy joked gravely, her gaze suddenly avoiding John’s, as she tried to hide just how much his coldness was hurting her.

“I won’t…besides there isn’t a back door.” John insisted, reaching for Missy as she turned to leave, his fingertips barely brushing her blouse as Missy moved away, yet she didn’t pause and she didn’t look back at him either, instead striding down the corridor like she was the one running from him.

Closing the door John rested his forehead against it; curling his hand into a fist he hit the door.

“Fuck….Fuck…Fuck.” John repeated banging his head in a rhythm with his cursing.

Well that could have gone better.

\---/---

It took John ten minutes. In that time he had managed to tame his hair a little, to shave off the scruff and reject two outfits before finally settling on the smartest outfit he had brought with him and one that he had little cause to wear. The blue grey jacket offset his eyes and made his hair seem more silver and less dull, the black shirt was clean and the wrinkles were less visible than on his white shirt. Black jeans and some smart dress shoes completed his outfit, and John even remembered to splash on a little aftershave as well.

Now at least Missy wouldn’t object to be seen in public with him.

Reaching the bar John was relieved to spot Missy sitting in one of the booth seats, her gaze was focused on the table, her hands wrapped around her tall glass of something, whilst a glass of whiskey sat off to the side. Sinking into the booth beside her, Missy was startled by his silent arrival and John was able to press a kiss to cheek and pull back again before she could really react.

Reaching for his drink John took a small sip, savouring the smoky taste; trust Missy to get him the good stuff.

“You look nice.” Missy offered by way to break the silence.

“Yes well I can’t have you showing me up…People would be wondering what you were doing drinking with a tramp if I had turned up in my hoody and with all that scruff.” John tried for a joke, rubbing his hand over his newly shorn chin.

“I thought you knew me well enough to know I don’t give two fucks what other people think.” Missy snorted, leaning back against the booth for support as the events of the day all seemed to pile up on her. All the stress and all the travelling and she still had this conversation to get through, it was enough to bring tears to her eyes, and Missy laid a hand across her forehead as she forced herself to hold it together.

“Hey…Missy…Marsaili…” John offered as he took a moment to really look at her.

Perhaps it was the grey colour Missy was wearing but her face looked drained, her cheekbones stark even without a blush to emphasis them and the hand that hid her eyes from him trembled slightly. His heart hurt just looking at her, this was not his Marsaili, was this what his disappearing act had caused?

“Here have some of this.” John offered her his whiskey, waving the strong smelling liquor under her nose, surprised when she actually seemed to baulk and bodily push the glass away so violently that the contents sloshed against the sides.

Swallowing down the gagging reflex Missy reached for her own tonic water and took a long drag; even so it was a few minutes before her stomach settled properly. “Sorry...”

“Don’t apologise. I didn’t…I shouldn’t…”

“If I don’t need to apologise then you don’t either.” Missy insisted, before chuckling darkly. “Look at us, so polite all of a sudden for two people who once upon a time couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”

“If you think it easy to sit here and not touch you then you are wrong about that.” John replied honestly, and that earnt him some direct eye contact, Missy’s gaze was misted but at least she was looking at him.

“Me too.” Missy confessed, her hand inching across the table, the first move and an offer that she hoped John wouldn’t reject.

How could he say no? John’s free hand crept over the table top and covered Missy’s delicate hand with his own, long fingers creeping around to wrap her hand up carefully, like he was holding something liable to break apart under his touch.

Something that was wound tight in Missy’s chest uncoiled slightly and for the first time in weeks she was able to breathe deeply. Yet as soon as that pressure eased, it was like it had shifted and Missy was blinking back tears.

“Oh fuck…just…fuck…” She snivelled, reaching up to try and brush the damn tears off of her cheeks before her mascara found its way down her face. “I’m sorry…I’m just a fucking mess…just ignore me for a minute…it’ll go off in a minute.” Missy babbled only stopping when a handkerchief was being pressed to her cheeks and John wiped away the residue.

“I guess you needed that.” John said softly as he tucked the tear stained handkerchief back in his jacket pocket.

“Yeah…I guess…” Missy trailed off, her relief of a few moments earlier was swamped by a sense of embarrassment and then mounting frustration. It was like being on an emotional seesaw and Missy was sick of it. She had come all this way to speak to John and now she couldn’t even hold a conversation like an adult.

Normally Missy was the one who got them talking, she was the professional and the one that normally had ways to coax him to open up. Yet now the shoe was on the other foot and Missy was the one retreating into herself John wasn’t sure what to do about it…well other than to confront it head on…

“So you said you needed to talk…”

Nodding Missy took a moment to try and gather her thoughts. There was just so much to tell John about and to be honest she wasn’t sure now if she could even remember her game plan let alone carry it out.

“Would it be easier if we talked about something else first?” John suggested when Missy still remained silent and clearly struggling. “I could talk about how my editing is going or…”

“The police came to my flat about the Clara thing.” There it was out. Missy hadn’t meant to interrupt John but working up to it had never worked for her and she just had to say it, and once one secret was off her chest she could breathe a little easier and the next one just flowed out as well.

“And I’ve been ill for weeks; I was even before you left. The doctor is doing tests, I can call for the preliminary results tomorrow…I just couldn’t be on my own…I needed some kind of support…I needed you. So I went to Douglas’s office to find out how to find you…then I fainted and he thinks I’m pregnant that we’re pregnant that’s why he told me so don’t get mad at him…”

“Woah…” It was like trying to calm a bolting horse. John had barely had time to react to the first thing before the next was like a sucker punch knocking the wind right out of him.

“So I’m sorry if you don’t want to see me, or have realised you don’t love me any more…” Missy carried on oblivious to John’s growing horror, not even recognising the words coming out of her own mouth. “But you owe me that at least surely? I mean after all the shit of yours I put up with; you could at least hold my hand whilst some fucking Doctor destroys my life…or perhaps when the police do because that one’s completely up to you.”

“Missy stop love just please stop.” John insisted his hand tightening around hers, causing Missy to thankfully fall quiet again, her slowly rising voice had started to attract the attention of their fellow patrons in that, we’re watching but we don’t want to be obvious about it way.

John reached for his whiskey and finished it in one go. It was tempting to order another but that would involve letting Missy’s hand go, which at the moment John felt was the only tether keeping either of them steady; or asking the waiter to come over, and John didn’t want that intrusion either. There was just so much to take in, the police coming to talk to Missy about her threatening behaviour to Clara and John had no idea how that would be in his hands; or that Missy was ill enough to finally go to the Doctor and that it was serious enough to warrant tests of some kind; or that she honestly thought he didn’t love her or would want to be there to support her through this without feeling obliged to do so.

Yet why shouldn’t she feel like that?

John had already proven his propensity to run and hide when things got tough, he had turned inward when he had been caught cheating and broke off his relationship with Clara, abandoning Missy for days without any contact whatsoever. When they had fought during the early days of their relationship he had retreated into his study and hid in his own imaginary world with his book. Then when things really got difficult John had run all the way to Scotland.

So by Missy’s reckoning these new revelations should have him booking a one way ticket to colonise Mars or something?

It was difficult to find the words but as Missy tried to pull her hand free from under his own John knew he had to do something…say something…anything to make her realise that the reason he had run, was not because he had felt nothing for her and was just looking for an easy exit, but because he felt so much for her that he was desperate to find a solution that meant he could still have it all.

Or perhaps it had taken coming all this way to realise that everyone fucked up from time to time and considering his own duplicitous behaviour what right had he to judge?

“Never think that I don’t love you…don’t you dare ever say that again or even think it!” John’s voice was so deep and his throat so choked with emotion that his words came out in a growl.

“Secondly I will be there tomorrow when you call the doctors, I will be there for every appointment or call or whatever is needed.” John added, this time softening his voice a little when Missy lifted her gaze to meet his, her blue eyes still so uncertain that it killed him.

“Every single one no matter what!” John repeated as his previous emotionally overwhelmed state settled down to one of agitation and fear. Missy’s mother Mary had had cancer, and cancer could be hereditary, suddenly his fear over Missy being pregnant seemed such a stupid one.

“But…”

“No buts. Whatever it is we’ll face it together I promise. And we’ll get the best doctors the best care.”

It was everything Missy could have hoped for, John was here, he was telling her he loved her and that he would stand by her through everything and suddenly Missy felt such a fraud. Here John was working himself up into a state probably thinking she was dying when Missy was convinced it was probably some lingering virus. It felt duplicitous like she had played an ace she had hid up her sleeve to win the game, and even if the prize was everything she could have wanted Missy didn’t want to win it like this…it wouldn’t be real and she’d have to face that every day, what if today was the day he found out the truth…

“No…You don’t have to do this just because I might be sick…I was being selfish.” Missy muttered dragging her gaze away from John’s she just couldn’t look at him and say this; couldn’t see the way that loved died in his eyes, and his disgust for her returned.

“I was just panicking…I overreacted…I…look the tests weren’t the real reason I came here. I lied to the police, I told them I didn’t go anywhere near Clara that she just have imagined the whole. I said you would be able to confirm that I never left your side…I lied…I panicked and I lied and I came here to ask you to lie for me…but I can’t…I won’t…” Missy stopped, shaking her head, her heart dying in her chest as John’s hand suddenly withdrew and she was cast adrift once more, hating and cursing her own self sabotaging instincts.

She deserved this; she didn’t deserve him, just like she hadn’t deserved Theo either. Harry had been right all these years. She was rotten and dark and twisted just like him and there was no use pretending or trying to be good, it would never stick. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many people she helped, no matter how badly she wanted it, Missy would always destroy anything good and pure in her life because that was what she deserved.

For one moment everything had been golden but she didn’t deserve gold, she tarnished it and Missy couldn’t do that to John, she couldn’t risk hurting him the way she had Theo, or her baby…

John Smith was angry, angry with Missy for manipulating him, always so clever even she didn’t even seem to have a game plan. John was angry that he still couldn’t decide if that reluctant outburst earlier was real or just some wonderful acting. He was angry at himself bringing this whole Clara Missy triangle into being in the first place. He was furious that having finally found some sort of resolution in his own mind, a way to excuse or at least chose to ignore Missy’s behaviour in order that he could stay by her side, that Missy had managed to find a new way to undermine it.

It was infuriating, to almost have his Marsaili back, and then suddenly to have that stupid dream wrenched away again.

“Why are you doing this?”

“I don’t know.” Missy confessed her voice small and so tired. “I thought it wouldn’t matter as long as I got you back, anything it took. But we’d be building on quicksand. You can’t build trust with lies, and I won’t have you stay with me out of obligation or because you feel sorry for me.”

“If that is what you really think I would be doing then we have more serious problems than your lying.” John spat back, unable to keep his anger from his voice. “You are the most infuriating woman…no person I have ever met! Do you actually enjoy playing games with my feelings? Is that it, because I can’t think of any other reason a rational person…”

“Well who said I was fucking rational?” Missy hissed, blue eyes flashing dangerously at John’s accusation. “If you think I am enjoying a second of this then you are wrong. Do you think I like fucking up any good thing that I have in my life, or that perhaps I’m a masochist and actually enjoying having my heart broken over and over again?”

“I don’t know!” John snapped. “Perhaps that is the only rational explanation.”

The urge to slap him burned quick and hot through her, Missy clenched her fists to avoid giving into the feeling, that or throwing the rest of her tonic water into his self-righteous face. Yet as Missy glared up at John as he glared down at her she felt them peak and then quickly ebb away. Underneath that anger he was hurt…she had hurt him again because of her manipulation of his feelings and his character, no matter how subconscious it might have been on her part.

“What are we doing?”

It was a rhetorical question, they both knew it and yet John felt compelled to try and answer her.

“We’re stuck going round and round in circles. Having the same arguments over and over again.” John suggested, because they were, for such smart people they were certainly stupid not to have seen the obvious patterns in their behaviour.

“Is that you’re way of saying you want to get off the roundabout? That you want to call it quits…for good this time?” It took everything she had to say it, Missy dreaded the answer, because John was right they were stuck in the same god damn loop, and the only way she could realistically see it ending was if John finally called time.

“Yes I want to get off the roundabout…I’m so tired Missy…tired of being hurt and tired of being angry with you…”

“Ok.” The admission cost her everything, and it was only by wrapping the shattered remains of her dignity around her that Missy managed to get to her feet without bursting into tears, she could manage that behind closed doors in her hotel room.

Watching as Missy stood, her shattered expression telling John that although she had heard him she hadn’t really understood him. Standing up John caught her arm before Missy could leave.

“I want us both to get off the roundabout Missy, I want to find a way to get on with my life, but I want to try to get on with my life with you in it. I want you to trust me, and I want to trust you back. I don’t know how but I want to try…I won’t give up on us yet if you won’t.”

Pressing her hand against John’s chest, feeling the solid weight and warmth of him against her palm, Missy now really couldn’t find any of the words she was normally so clever with. “Ok.”

In a movie this would be the moment he kissed her, with Missy staring up at him, those blue eyes of hers so full of everything that there weren’t words for, and his own heart beating out a rapid beat under Missy’s palm.

But this wasn’t a movie and a kissing would merely being a sticking plaster when what they needed was good solid, dependable stiches to mend this wound. God knows it was going to take time to heal and would leave an ugly scar, but scars could be useful reminders. Reminders not to take things for granted, or that they had been strong enough to survive something terrible once and so when the next challenge came they had the strength to overcome it, and John knew that there would always be a next challenge.

\---/---


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s been so long for an update..,enjoy

Chapter 5:  
\---/---

It was strange waking up beside someone in the same bed, and yet still feel separate from them somehow. In an ideal world Missy Saxon would close her eyes and try and go back to sleep, hoping when she woke up that this distance between her and John had vanished, that it was all in her own head. Yet the ever constant queasiness and the knowledge that she might be getting unpleasant news later, well they made any further sleep impossible. Still that didn’t mean John couldn’t rest peacefully.

Easing herself up carefully Missy rested quietly with her back against the headboard, concentrating on her breathing exercises, it didn’t really help with the nausea but it did make her feel less panicked about it. In through the nose, slowly and then hold the breath, counting to five, then a slow exhale, then repeat…

The bed beside her moved but Missy kept her eyes closed, trying to focus on staying in control and not worrying about what John was up to. She heard the running of the tap in the bathroom, heard it stop, but even so Missy wasn’t prepared for the damp hand cloth that was pressed to her forehead.

“Easy it’s just me.” John muttered when Missy started at the sudden contact, still he held the wet cloth to her skin and mopped at her brow whilst Missy relaxed under his care.

Her face was bone white and any lingering doubts in John’s mind, as to the veracity of her illness, vanished with the dawn haze. He knew that breathing exercise, had used it himself when his own anxiety used to cause him to feel on the verge of some attack. Only Missy might have more than anxiety to worry about.

He couldn’t lose her. The very real fear that he might struck John for the first time, and not the usual fear that sprung from his own feelings of inadequacy, or their seeming inability to go five minutes without fighting over something…but properly lose her, in a way that John couldn’t ever recover from.

“Can I get you anything else…would water help?”

Not trusting herself to speak Missy nodded, clutching at the damp cloth when John returned to the bathroom to fetch her a glass of water. It did very little to ease the sickness but it did help ease her anxiety. No one had cared for when she was sick…well not since her Mam had done when she was little…and then after she had lost…

John’s return and the press of a glass against her lips gave Missy a reprieve from those thoughts. It was being so close to home, that was stirring it all up again, when they left to return to London Missy was certain she would able to lock all those thoughts and feelings back away again. Not the heathy option that she would advise to her own patients, but it was something that had worked well enough for her so far.

“Little sips Miss.” John advised her when Missy took a thirsty gulp; he wasn’t keen to have it come back up over him.

Stroking her cheek gently, John brushed Missy’s hair back from her face, the edge of her cheekbone sharp under the pad of his thumb. She had lost weight and that worried John, she needed energy to fight whatever this was, and not eating would not help. He should have been there to take care of her.

“Would it help to eat something…I’ve got an energy bar in my bag…”

“No…Gods no…not yet.” Missy insisted pushing away the water, as her stomach cramped in protest at even the small amount of water. “I’ll be able to eat something later…I just need to…”

Swallowing Missy fought the growing desire to throw up…she was so thirsty and yet her damn stomach protested even water.

“Bathroom?” John questioned as he saw Missy fight to retain control over her own body.

Pushing his hands away Missy stumbled as she tried to get out of the bed, grateful then for John’s strength as he lifted her up and propelled them both into the bathroom. She made the loo, which was a small mercy, Missy couldn’t help but feel humiliated as John rubbed her back and reached to gather her hair so it would remain clean…a little pointless as the first thing Missy would do next would be to get in the shower.

Finally when there was nothing left Missy was able to lift her head and breathe. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” John insisted as he pulled Missy back to lean against him instead. “Has it been like this for long?”

“Weeks.” Missy confessed softly, damn annoying tears creeping out from under her eyelashes even as she screwed up her eyes against them. It was bad enough being sick in front of John, she wasn’t going to top it off by bawling all over him as well. Pushing herself up Missy forced herself to stand steady. “I’m going to take a shower…”

“Ok.” John replied watching as Missy stood up and pushed him away. He couldn’t blame her, if she had really been ill like this for weeks then Missy probably had a routine to follow, a routine that didn’t include him…because he hadn’t been there…because he had run away and left her to deal with this all alone…was it any wonder she didn’t want to let him in now?

“Can I….Do you need a hand?” John offered expecting Missy to refuse but unable to stop wanting to be useful. “Just in case it’s slippery; these hotel showers well they aren’t exactly robust.”

John was trying…offering her a reason to accept that wasn’t a blow to her pride, and yet Missy had little intention of doing more than stripping off and standing under the water like a zombie. It was humiliating to just stand there with John watching her and yet when Missy caught his pleading gaze, she couldn’t find the strength to turn him down. He wanted to help in any way he could, not feel as useless as Missy did right now, and at least one of those things was in her power to change.

Offering John her hand, Missy knew she had made the right decision, when relief broke across his face.

“I’m just planning on standing there until I feel better….Just warning you.” Missy offered as John pulled himself up to stand beside her, then moving to turn on the shower for her.

“Or until the hot water runs out.” John jested, as he fiddled with the water until it was the right temperature.

He tried not to stare, as Missy just stripped off the oversized T-shirt she had slept in, even with the weight loss she was still gorgeous, but it wasn’t his libido Missy needed now but his love and affection. Pulling off his own shirt and kicking off his boxers, John stepped up into the tub and offered Missy his hand to keep her steady, as she stepped into the bath tub and moved under the rather pathetic shower head.

Missy really did intend to just stand there under the water, there wasn’t room under the flow for John, so he just stood there awkwardly naked, until he caught sight of the complimentary toiletries left by the hotel staff. Another hand cloth and a generous squeeze of a mint scented shower gel, and John rubbed the now soapy cloth down over Missy’s back.

A small smile tugged at Missy’s lips as she felt John rub a cloth over her back. He was so gentle with her, and yet so methodical, she doubted John would miss a single inch of her skin, and it warmed her more than the hot water could.

Down over her shoulder blades, the dip of her waist and flare of her hips, those damn dimples in her backside that he loved and fortunately hadn’t disappeared, down long legs; John methodically cleansed ever visible inch, pouring out more shower gel when his cloth got rinsed out. Even her ankles got his attention and then John tugged on her hip, and fortunately Missy turned without protest.

Of course now it was harder to control himself, John couldn’t help but prefer the view from this side, and tried his hardest not to stare. Instead he found himself uncovering small details that had escaped his notice before…a little childhood scar on her knee, a cluster of freckles on her hip…and her…

John’s hand stilled over Missy’s stomach. It was a small change, and if he hadn’t been concentrating on her so intently, John might have missed it entirely, but where other parts of her seemed thinner, her stomach seemed fuller…and pushing aside the washcloth it felt firm under his hand, hard like a football.

“John?”

It seemed Missy had noticed his pause and blinked down at him through wet hair as he stayed knelt down in front of her, his hand cupping her stomach.

“Missy are you absolutely sure there is no chance you are pregnant?”

\---/---

“Can we not have this conversation?”

It was better than an outright refusal, which to be honest was what John Smith was expecting after Missy left him alone in the shower, and ran off back to her own room on the pretence of needing to get dressed. John knew he should have posed the question differently, instead of simply blurting it out the way he did, he knew how sensitive Missy got at the very mention of children. Yet as he had knelt there, John had been so damn sure, he wasn’t sure where the knowledge had come from, but he was certain that cause of all Missy’s current difficulties was growing under his palm.

It should have been him running scared right now, he had always insisted he didn’t want to be a father, didn’t want to fuck up another human being the way his own absent parents had him. The only times he had ever had to confront the possibility, were those few hours in the hospital when there was a possibility Clara was pregnant, and then the time Missy had all but thrown a negative pregnancy test at his head.

“We don’t have to.” John answered and Missy’s relief was palpable, even if it was short lived. “But we do have to talk sometime.”

“I don’t see why?” Missy sneered turning and stalking away from her lover, as she stormed along the footpath.

It had been her idea to take a walk, the walls of her hotel room closing in on her, as was John’s all too penetrating gaze. It had been his idea to visit the Necropolis, and Missy could almost scoff at the irony…a walk in a graveyard how very fitting.

“Missy we will find out one way or another in about half an hour.” John countered rationally as Missy continued to storm away from him, relieved when the truth at least caused her to pause. “Can’t we just discuss the option…”

“It is not an option.” Missy insisted turning back to him, the slight breeze pulling at her hair and forcing her to tuck it behind her ear. “You know it can’t be, I did a test remember and besides I would have lost it already.”

“Not necessarily you did say there was a chance…”

“John stop please…just stop!” Missy pleaded, before biting down on her lip to stop herself from crying. “I can’t even think it ok…I can’t let myself go there, because if I do then I might start to hope, and then I know I will be crushed when we find out that I’m not.”

Closing the distance between them, John pulled Missy gently into his arms, leaning down to press his forehead against hers. “Ok we’ll wait and hear what the Doctor has to say.”

Taking a deep breath to quell her tears, Missy breathed in the scent of John’s aftershave and the deeper musk that was just him, it was ridiculous that just being held by this man was enough to make her feel safe. “Thank you.”

“So we will talk but only when we know more.” John insisted those thunderous eyebrows drawn to a point that might be intimidating for anyone else, but just made Missy want to bite at them.

“Yes sir.” Missy mocked him, completing the insubordination with a little salute that actually made John growl at her.

“Bloody rude woman.” John hissed back as Missy had the nerve to pout up at him, it was a perfect moment and one even he couldn’t harden his heart against.

Their kiss was hesitant and gentle, something none of their previous kisses could claim to be, and yet this one felt more real…more grown up…he was kissing his girlfriend in the middle of a public park, not caring about the joggers or the tourists or whatever person might see them…and god damn it was liberating.

“I love you Marsaili.” John whispered it softly as he broke their kiss, pressing his lips to her forehead, as he whispered the words into her skin, feeling Missy’s grip on him tighten as she heard him.

“Hmmm I love you to.” Missy sighed into his warmth, for the moment everything was perfect, and she wished to live an eternity in that moment.

Then her stomach decided to gurgle…loudly…and John’s chuckles confirmed that he had heard it.

“Can I take that as a sign we should go find some breakfast?” John teased, tucking Missy’s fly away hair back behind her ear.

“I suppose so…something light, like toast…” Missy sighed, unwilling to move from this moment before she had to.

“Toast it is then…I think there is a café the other side of this hill that might work.” John added. “Of course knowing my luck it probably closed down years ago.”

“Probably…you are ancient after all.” Missy teased, her stomach grumbling again and reminding her that she really was starting to feel hungry. Accepting John’s hand she let him pull her reluctant self up the hill, she really wasn’t much of a walker, but as long as John Smith was walking with her she supposed she could make an exception.

\---/---

His hands were shaking; it was an old symptom and one John had thought he was long passed. Setting his coffee mug back on the plastic covered table top before he could spill the contents on himself, John settled for staring down into the murky depths and trapping his shaking hands between thigh and chair. After all he may be struggling right now but he needed to be strong for Missy who fortunately was too engrossed staring down at her silent phone to have noticed.

The slight easing in tension thanks to their walk had evaporated when they sat down to breakfast in the café, the food and coffee was little better than a greasy spoon fair but John doubted he could have tasted the difference if it had been cooked by some famous chef. His mouth was dry and everything tasted like cardboard. If his hands weren’t shaking John would have reached for Missy’s hand; she was gripping her own mug so tightly the knuckles on her right hand were white.

“This is ridiculous.” Missy snapped, and John gaze shot to her face, realising only too late that whilst he had been looking everywhere but Missy she had been staring at him and growing increasingly irritated by the second. “We can’t just sit here and say nothing to each other.”

“You said you didn’t want to talk about…”

“Yes and I still don’t!” Missy retorted, cutting John off before he could start again. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about something else…anything else…tell me about your trip…the research for the book…how the editing is going….anything just talk to me John.”

Talk about his trip…For a moment John was trapped, the only thing he could think of right now was the one other thing he didn’t want to talk about…probably not ever…and he doubted very much that Missy would want to discuss her mother or Harry or why her family thought she was dead when she was clearly very much alive. And yet part of him, the part that collected and hoarded stories wanted so desperately to know; wasn’t that why he had started nosing about in the first place?

“John why do you look like you’re going to be sick?” Missy’s question was softly spoken but there was no hiding the sense of command there, she expected an answer and John should have remembered just what Dr Saxon did for a living; there was no getting away with lying to her face.

“Was there someone else…”

“No! God no!” John spluttered, horrified that that was the first place Missy’s mind went, and yet hadn’t he given her reason to doubt his fidelity considering the way they had met. “I don’t expect you to believe me but I wish you would…I really am not that kind of person Missy. Besides I am hardly the sort of man women throw themselves at.” John added with a self-depreciating huff.

“I did.” Missy reminded him softly. “I knew I wanted you from the moment we met, and then when we met for a second time I set out to snare you and I was pretty damn ruthless about it as you well know.”

“Yes you were…but fortunately for me there is only one Marsaili Saxon in the world and I think we’ve well and truly snared each other.” John offered generously, knowing that for once he had picked the right words when Missy smiled.

“So you really don’t regret…even after all the trouble I’ve caused…”

“I really don’t.” John answered, the words came easily and there were the truth, a fact that surprised John a little himself.

He had been so damn angry with her when he left London all those weeks ago. He knew then that he loved her, really loved her, if he didn’t then the betrayal of trust wouldn’t have hurt the way it did. Yet that anger had faded with time to think, the hurt was still there but it had numbed somewhat, and it was nothing when compared with just how cold and empty his life felt without Missy in it.

“I love you…good and bad…and well…” John trailed off trying to push away the blush that threatened as he realised just how similar that choice of words were to another rather more famous set and as much as he did love Missy John wasn’t ready for that conversation…now…or next year or probably ever.

“That’s good to know.” Missy teased him a little, rolling her eyes as John seemed embarrassed by such a declaration. “And it’s reciprocated just so you know.”

“hmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

“You doubt me?”

Gathering his courage John nodded, it hurt to see the gentle smile fall from Missy’s lips, to see her flinch at the blow.

“I don’t know what I have ever done to make you doubt my dedication to this relationship?” It was both a statement and a question and came out a little frostier than intended.

Sighing John tried his best to be gentle, he truly didn’t want to hurt her but if they were going to make it through in the long term then he had to be honest with her. Lying and hiding things from Clara had become the norm and John never wanted that to happen between him and Missy.

“You don’t trust me…I can understand why you don’t, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. You only told me about your past when there was no other option Missy. You lied to me, to Douglas, to the police and you hurt Clara out of misplaced jealousy. I can forgive your lying to me but you need to find a way to trust me enough not to need to lie.”

“I…I haven’t had the best track record with trusting people John. The people I trusted in the past they were the ones who hurt me the most. Until you I haven’t found anyone else I wanted to let in. I guess I am out of practice.”

Biting his lip John could feel his damn curiosity raising its ugly head once again. Was it Harry or Theo she was talking about? And to be honest it didn’t escape his own notice that whilst he was insisting on total honesty from Missy, John was himself hiding a rather large secret from her.

“I want to promise I won’t ever lie to you again…I want to try to be the partner you deserve.” Missy began.

“It’s not about what I deserve Miss, I’m no saint, I try my best to be a good man but I fail from time to time.” John chided her gently. This not about putting himself on a pedestal and having Missy earn his good opinion, this was about ensuring they stayed together and didn’t break each other in the process.

“I do want to be a good person.”

“You are!” John insisted, releasing his hands from their prison to reach over and grip Missy’s. “I think you just panic from time to time when you feel threatened and then well…I think you place your own survival over doing the right thing.”

Snorting at John’s turn of phrase Missy felt a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “Is that your polite and educated way of calling me a bitch Dr Smith?”

Rolling his eyes at Missy’s teasing John couldn’t help but smile back at her. “Whatever you are my darling you are mine.”

“And you’re mine.” Missy countered.

Perhaps it was her eyes, that deep penetrating blue stare, or the way she said it but John felt a shiver down his spine, a little fear and a lot of excitement. This was why he could never give Missy up, not even if it was the right or sane or sensible thing to do. Dr John Smith had always been something of an adrenaline junky, he never settled either in one place or with one person for long, always moving in search of the next challenge. With Missy a simple conversation was a like a chess match against an opponent who matched him move for move. God it was sexy as hell.

“hmmm what are you thinking now Dr Smith…” Missy teased leaning back in her chair as she studied the man opposite her.

“I think you know bloody well what I am thinking Dr Saxon. I’m thinking it’s time we paid and were on our way.”

“Back to the hotel?”

Swallowing nervously John wet his suddenly dry lips. Mentally calculating how long it would take them to walk back and if it was too close to be able to catch a taxi… “If you like…”

“Oh but there was this gallery I was hoping to pop into, it would hardly take more than an hour or so…”

She was playing him, John knew it and he knew that Missy knew that he knew it, but even so he growled a little under his breath, playing along with the part of an impatient lover; only it wasn’t really play acting, if it had been dark outside John might have been tempted to push Missy up against the nearest tree. Still two could play at this game.

“Then perhaps a long bracing walk along the river?” John suggested.

“In these heels?” Missy tutted as she extended her leg, skinny jeans tucked into knee high suede boots. “I don’t think so darling.”

“You could always change shoes back at the hotel.” John countered dropping a hand under the table, covering Missy’s knee and rubbing his fingers behind it.

“As if I own anything without a heel on it.”

“Well I am sure we can think of some other way to make sure you get some exercise.” John countered, his hand sliding up to stroke her thigh.

“Or we could just…” Missy replied with a smile, one eyebrow rising suggestively before the sudden shrill ringing of her mobile cut through the happy atmosphere and both their eyes were drawn to the vibrating phone.

“Missy you should answer it.” John insisted when Missy simply stared at the phone. “Missy…”

Her hand shooting forward Missy hit the accept button, yet it was still a few moments before she could raise the phone to her ear.

His heart thumping in his throat John leant forward straining to hear the conversation, yet he had to make do with Missy’s monosyllabic responses at first.

“Yes it is…”

“Yes I did…”

“Ok I’ll hold…”

Catching Missy’s frightened gaze John took her free hand in his and held it tightly, willing her whatever strength he could.

“Hello Doctor…”

Then came an interminable wait during which John could only watch and wait and try his best to discern was being said from Missy’s expression, which went from confused to downright stunned in a matter of moments.

“You’re sure…You’re certain it isn’t something else…more tests you could…”

Tears were gathering in Missy’s eyes…it must bad news then and John girded himself to stay strong, he had sworn to stick by her no matter what. Lifting Missy’s hand John pressed a kiss to the knuckles before rubbing it in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

“No I can’t make an appointment today I’m in Scotland at the moment…No I’ll be back next week. Yes I will call and make an appointment…Let me just find a pen…” Missy’s voice sounded panicked, but John wasn’t a writer for nothing, every coat he owned had several pens stashed away and in a matter of moments pen and paper napkin were offered to a trembling Missy.

Of course that meant letting go of her hand and for John it was like his own lifeline had been ripped away from him. Without Missy to ground him he suddenly felt hot and dizzy…air…they both could do with it…and Missy wouldn’t want to break down in such a public place. Opening his wallet John grabbed the first note he came across and slammed it down on the table, ten, twenty, fifty pounds he didn’t care, all he cared about was getting them both out of there.

As soon as the pen dropped back on the table top John all but lifted Missy out of her seat, scooping up pen and paper and waving the started waitress over to the money on the table, John ushered them both outside. They made it out just as the phone dropped from Missy’s hand, the call over and John leant a mute Missy against the nearest wall as he bent to retrieve her battered phone.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a moment John thoughts his ears were deceiving him, crouched on the ground he stared up at Missy who seemed to stare though him.

“I’m pregnant…the doctor did the test…and I’m really pregnant.”

\---/---


End file.
